The Collector
by Phx
Summary: What does a disfigured body found floating in Bayport harbor have to do with the Hardys? If Frank and Fenton don’t figure it out soon, then Joe might become the next victim of ‘the Collector’. No Nancy Zone.
1. Chapter 1

**The Collector**

**Chapter 1**

Private investigator Fenton Hardy smiled in pleasant surprise at the man standing on his front step. "Mr. Rosado! Come in, come in!" He quickly ushered the other man into his two-story Victorian house, situated on the corner of Elm and High streets in the coastal city of Bayport.

At 6'2", Fenton towered over the much shorter man, who stood only about 5'6".

"Frank! Joe! Could you come down here please?" the detective called out. "I'd like you to meet my sons," he explained to Mr. Rosado with a warm smile.

The shorter man smiled back and nodded. "I'd love to, Fenton. I've just gotten back in town and had to stop by to say hello right away!"

The sound of feet on the stairs interrupted them, and both men turned to see a tall, dark-haired, handsome young man coming towards them. At 6'1", 18-year-old Frank Hardy looked a lot like his father. They had the same dark hair, eyes and many shared mannerisms.

The teenager immediately put his hand out to shake the extended one of his father's guest.

"Frank, I'd like you to meet an old client of mine – Mr. Antoine Rosado. Mr. Rosado, this is my older son, Frank." Fenton made the introduction and then looked at his son, questioningly. "Dare I ask where your brother is?"

Hurried footsteps along the top landing heading towards the staircase answered Fenton's query, even as Frank grinned, "Getting dressed. He was in the shower."

And indeed, Joe was still pulling a sweater down over his muscular chest even as he came down the stairs. Then he ran a hand through his damp curly blond hair, even as his brother rolled his eyes, amazed that Joe didn't kill himself on the stairs.

"Sorry," the younger boy said sheepishly. He blushed slightly when he realized they had seen him getting dressed, as he had expected them to be in his father's office.

The private investigator's home office had only recently been moved downstairs.

Fenton chuckled and introduced the 17-year-old before Joe shook Mr. Rosado's hand, but it was when he glanced into the face of the older man, that the man started in surprise.

"Oh my!"

"Is something wrong?" Fenton asked, but the other man was just shaking his head and starting at Joe's face.

"Oh no. I'm sorry, it's just that your son has the most exquisitely colored eyes I've ever seen. I don't think I've seen that shade of blue before. In fact, I know I haven't."

Frank turned away to hide a small smile as Joe, blushing heavily this time, glanced away self-consciously and moved to stand beside him.

The younger boy was used to people remarking about his eye color – an electric sapphire that intensified when he was upset – but this man's reaction made him feel very uncomfortable.

Unaware of his younger son's discomfort, Fenton beamed proudly, "He takes after his mom's family."

"Ah, Laura…yes, I do remember her very well. A very beautiful woman but I must admit I don't recall her eyes being so…well for lack of a better word – blue!" Antoine said as his eyes took on a faraway look for a moment before he returned his gaze to Joe.

"You're right; Laura's aren't that color blue," Fenton admitted, a bit surprised that the old man remembered her. "He takes after her brother."

As they moved to sit down in the living room, Joe tried to avoid Antoine by sitting down on the other side of Frank, as far away from the old man as possible. Absently he started to bounce his leg, ignoring the look his brother gave him.

His father, noticing his growing discomfort, quickly changed the subject. "Boys, Mr. Rosado is the head of one of the oldest shipping firms in Europe and…well, he was mine and Sam's first client when we went out on our own."

The younger Hardys were impressed, although Joe was finding Mr. Rosado's obtrusive gaze unnerving, and he squirmed in the seat next to Frank. His brother cast him a curious glance, wondering why he was fidgeting more than usual, even as he placed a steadying hand on Joe's leg to get him to stop moving it.

...

Finally after about ten minutes, the blond teenager couldn't take it anymore; the old man was creeping him out. Excusing himself, he went back upstairs under the pretense of starting an assignment for school.

"Okay kiddo," Frank said, after going into his brother's room and seeing Joe looking through his dresser drawers, "What's going on?"

Joe paused and looked at his older brother. "I'm looking for my black belt – you didn't borrow it, did you?"

"No, try the hamper. Maybe you left it on your pants," Frank offered, and then followed his brother into the bathroom they shared. "Now 'fess up. I'm not buying the assignment excuse." He watched as Joe dumped the contents of the hamper on the floor and then rummaged through it, finding his belt, just as Frank predicted.

The older boy cleared his throat when Joe started to leave the mess, and was rewarded by a stinky sock being tossed at him, but the blond teen did put the clothes back in the hamper anyway.

Joe shrugged. "I just didn't want to hang out any longer. Mr. Rosado is creepy."

Frank laughed and watched his brother slip his wallet into his back pocket as he finished fastening the belt. "Creepy? I thought he was a nice old guy. A bit eccentric maybe, but he is pretty rich. Old money, I think, if I remember from what Dad's mentioned about him before."

"Hmmm," Joe said thoughtfully, "You ever notice that if you're poor and off your rocker, you're 'crazy' but if you're rich, well then you're 'eccentric'? Crazy is still crazy big brother, no matter how you try and sell it."

Narrowing his eyes at the other teen, Frank teased, "That's pretty deep, little brother, especially for you."

"Ha, ha," Joe said sarcastically, and then he looked into Frank's warm brown eyes and sighed, "I can't explain it Frank. But the way he kept looking at me gave me the chills…"

"Joe," Frank said, as he could plainly read the unsettled look on his sibling's face, "he's not the first person to stare at you."

"I know," Joe admitted, "But I can't help how I feel…and that's just how I feel. Anyway, I gotta run. I'm supposed to meet Vanessa at the mall. You sure you don't need the van today?"

Frank shook his head, still puzzled by his brother. "Ironically enough, I do have an assignment to start on and Phil's coming over around lunchtime. So I'm home today. Have fun though, little brother, and please try to stay out of trouble for a couple of hours, anyway!"

Joe flashed him a bright smile. "You know me… 'Safety-boy!'" Frank groaned even as his brother left the room, calling over his shoulder as he went, "Talk to you later!"

Chuckling to himself, Frank went into his own room and pulled out his books. If the assignment's topic was any indication, it was going to be a very long day.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Seventeen-year-old Vanessa Bender looked around impatiently – where was Joe?

Although punctuality was not one of her boyfriend's strong suits, reliability was. He told her he'd be at the mall, so he would. She just couldn't figure out why he was so late.

Joe's normal window was plus or minus fifteen minutes. So an hour after they were supposed to meet and he hadn't shown up, the ash-blond teenager began to become very worried.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank was surprised to see Mr. Rosado was still downstairs talking to his father when he came down to get some fresh coffee.

"Your father has had a very interesting life," the old man said to the teenager. "I could listen to him talk about it all day!"

"Yeah he has," Frank admitted proudly as he stopped to talk to the two men. He found Mr. Rosado in no way 'creepy,' regardless of what Joe thought.

"And so have you and your brother, from what your father has told me," Antoine continued, "Come Frank, sit down and tell an old man all about what it is like to be the son of such a man. And to be such a man, yourself."

Normally Frank was not one who liked to talk about his own achievements much – that was more Joe's forte – however, he found Mr. Rosado such an attentive, animated audience, that he was soon regaling both him and his father with his and Joe's oft-times wild exploits.

...

A couple of times, Fenton found himself cocking an eyebrow at what he heard, realizing that it was not always exactly what he had been told – apparently the reports his sons gave him were quite tame in comparison!

But at the same time, his heart swelled with pride – they were good boys and he was very proud of them.

Mr. Rosado ooh'd, aah'd and even gave loud cries of excitement at certain points – his responses enticing Frank into the next tale!

Halfway through one of their cases, as the teenager was telling them about a run-in they'd had with a phantom freighter, the phone rang and Fenton excused himself to answer it in the kitchen.

A moment later he called out to Frank, "Son, did Joe mention to you that he had any place to go before meeting Vanessa at the mall?"

Frank shook his head. "No. He just said he was going to the mall—" He looked at his watch and frowned. "But that was over an hour and a half ago, now."

Fenton went back into the kitchen to finish talking to Vanessa, and when he came back, he had the same worried look on his face as Frank was wearing.

"Is something wrong?" Mr. Rosado asked, his ruddy face marking his concern.

Father and son exchanged a look before Fenton answered, "Actually Antoine, I think we need to cut this visit short. That was Joe's girlfriend. He was supposed to meet her at the mall over an hour ago, but he still hasn't shown."

"Oh dear," the old man said, "I hope nothing's happened to him. Maybe he got a flat tire or something…" He looked at Frank and winked, "No offence Frank, but young men are hardly ones to be considered high in the reliability area. He may be waylaid by his own heart's fancy. I may be old, but not so much that I can't appreciate a thing of beauty, myself…"

Frank stared at the old man for a second before shaking his head. "Not Joe. He might leave a bit to be desired in the punctuality department, but he's never this late." He headed for the phone as he said to his father, "I'll try his cell."

A few minutes later, he hung up, getting more worried by the moment. "The phone's ringing but he's not picking up." The Hardys shared a glance. "Dad, I'll take my bike and see if I can find him."

"Okay son," Fenton said, already following him to the kitchen where the vehicle keys were kept on a key rack. "I'll call around and see if anyone's seen him."

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Revving the motorcycle engine and pulling his visor down over his eyes, Frank pulled out of driveway.

_All right little brother_, he thought, _let's see what you've gotten into this time…._

There was no doubt in his mind that Joe's absence was innocent…it never was.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed. I appreciate hearing what you think. Yeah, I know, another 'Joe gets kidnapped story' but I'd like to think this is one with a twist… or is that it's just twisted? LOL!! Enjoy_

**The Collector**

**Chapter 2**

Mr. Rosado stood up as they heard Frank leave the driveway, and followed Fenton into the kitchen where he was going to use the phone that had all the numbers preprogrammed into it.

He knew it was a long shot, but maybe something had happened that did distract Joe and he ended up at one of his friends'…anything was possible.

The little old man touched Fenton's arm lightly. "Can I help?"

"I don't think so," the detective admitted, "I'm just going to call around to see if any of Frank and Joe's friends have seen him."

"And if they haven't?" Mr. Rosado pushed.

"Then I call the police," came the grim reply.

The smaller man patted Fenton's back reassuringly. "Keep your chin up, old man – from what I've just been listening to, your son is very resourceful. Both of them, actually. So I'm sure that whatever spot he's gotten himself into won't be anything he can't handle."

Fenton smiled weakly. "I'm sure you're right, Antoine. And thanks again for dropping by. I feel terrible for having to cut this short." And in truth he did; he had always liked the quirky old man.

Mr. Rosado nodded, approvingly. "Then we will have to finish this up again, soon, Fenton. Well, I'll call for my car and then be out of your hair."

Fenton waited while the old man made his phone call and then walked him to the door.

"Muir isn't much to look at, but he's a competent butler and chauffeur," Mr. Rosado said, as a long black limo pulled up outside the Hardy house, and a tall, intimidating-looking man, who reminded Fenton of Lurch from The Addams Family, got out and opened a door for his employer.

The man had a bruise just over his cheek but before the astute investigator could ask about it, Mr. Rosado was halfway down the walkway towards the car, calling back to Fenton as he went, "But I am afraid he does enjoy his coffee a bit too much at times."

Fenton nodded, waved goodbye, and then hurried back to the kitchen to start making the phone calls, his question about the manservant forgotten in the concern for his son.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Chet Morton was almost at home when he saw something that piqued his curiosity. A section of guardrail was down, about a mile from his house.

_Odd_, he thought, _that wasn't down earlier this morning_.

Pulling over, he decided to check it out, wondering if someone had had an accident. He followed very noticeable vehicle tracks down the embankment…and then froze.

Half submerged in the cold lake water was a van!

The whole front end was under water but Chet could see the back end and his knees buckled as he read the license plate number…

"Ohmygod! FRANK! JOE!" He ran to the edge of the lake and pulled out his cell phone. "_Please let it be stolen….Please let it be stolen_…"

He knew that van. It belonged to the Hardy brothers….

_Please let it be stolen…._

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank heard his cell phone ring and pulled over before answering it. He hoped it was Joe but it wasn't.

It was his father.

'_Frank?' _

Fenton's tone was clipped, and Frank knew this wasn't going to be good, and he didn't even wait for his son to answer:

'_Head out to the Morton farm immediately. I'm already on my way. Chet's found the van about a mile from his place. Frank, it's in Arbutus Lake.'_

Frank felt like all the air had been driven from his lungs.

'_Arbutus Lake? What about Joe?'_

He heard an unsettling pause before his father admitted:

'_I don't know son….I just don't know, but I've already called Collig and he's going to meet us there…with divers.'_

Frank hung up and turned the motorcycle around. His mind was riddled with questions.

Why was the van in Arbutus Lake?

Where was Joe?

Why was Joe anywhere near the Mortons'?

_Where was Joe?_

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Frank!" Chet Morton ran up to his oldest friend as soon as he saw him pull up. "Am I glad to see you!"

The older Hardy boy gave a grim smile and then followed his stout friend down to the lake. His heart wrenched when he saw it was true.

It was their van.

Although he knew it was futile, Frank cupped his hands to his mouth and hollered, "JOE! JOE! WHERE ARE YOU?"

Nothing but his own echo answered him.

In the distance they could hear the sound of the sirens….

"What happened?" Chet asked Frank as they stared at the tranquil waters.

"I don't know," Frank admitted, "But I just hope Joe wasn't in it." He wanted to jump into the lake and swim to the van, but he knew that if Joe was somehow still in it, he was beyond help.

Silently, the two boys watched as the police and divers arrived, with Fenton Hardy only a few minutes behind them. And then as he joined them at the water's edge, they watched the divers prepare and then enter the water, and swim out to the van.

"EMPTY!" yelled one of the men, and Frank felt his father squeeze his shoulder supportively even as he let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding.

It didn't mean that much, though. Joe could still be in the lake.

And then Frank heard a familiar tune, and a police officer walking alongside the lake, reached down and picked something up.

"It's a cell phone!" the officer called out, but both Frank and Fenton knew it was much more then that. It was Joe's cell phone – someone was calling him!

"It's wet," the officer said as he showed the Hardys the phone to confirm it was Joe's.

It was, and it was Vanessa who was still trying to call him.

"Well, that's something anyway," Chief Ezra Collig said as he came up behind the boys and Fenton, "it wasn't in the water long and it didn't get here by itself."

"So Joe got out," Frank mused in relief before looking at his father, "but where is he, then? And what was he doing here anyway? He was supposed to be going to the mall!"

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Mr. Rosado drove back to his house in silence and that was the way he preferred it.

Muir wasn't much on talking, and that suited his employer fine. He was loyal to a fault and that suited his employer fine, also.

So when Antoine excused himself to use the Hardys' bathroom, pulled out his cell phone and called his employee, he knew the giant of a man would do as he asked.

Muir had never failed him before, and he knew he had not failed him now.

A knowledge that was cemented when that girl called Fenton to say his younger son had not arrived at the mall.

A feral smile graced his thin lips as he thought about it. The boy had been right under Fenton's nose but the great detective had not realized it!

Antoine knew it wasn't nice, but he couldn't help it. He hadn't intended it to be this way. But once he set his eyes on Joe Hardy, he knew he had to have him.

The child was just what he needed…what his collection needed.

_Those eyes_, the old man mused; _I just had to have those eyes_.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Unconscious in the trunk of the limo, Joe was oblivious to it all….

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

**The Collector**

**Chapter 3**

With a groan, Joe opened his eyes and then looked around in shock. Just where was he…? Why was he wearing handcuffs? _And what the heck was he wearing? _

Instead of his navy sweater and jeans he was wearing…? _A pirate outfit??_

The last thing he had remembered was fighting with King Kong….No, that wasn't right. It just felt like he was fighting with the giant ape.

Stifling another groan, he attempted to sit up on the bed, but the handcuffs made it difficult. Difficult but not impossible, and as he swung his legs over the side, the pounding in the back of his skull intensified and he leaned over, holding his aching head gingerly.

_He had been on his way to the mall when he saw a stretch limo pulled over on the side of the road, with apparent engine trouble. Automotive tinkering being one of his favorite pastimes, Joe couldn't resist pulling over to see if he could help. He'd never worked on a limo before!_

_Glancing down at his watch the teen knew he could spare about fifteen minutes and still get to the mall without making Vanessa wait…well, wait for too long anyway._

_Things didn't quite work out that way though, as the driver, a huge man standing well over 6'5" jumped him as soon as he leaned over the engine. Joe managed to get one good punch in, and while the giant staggered, he never went down._

_Seconds later though, Joe did…._

"Oh man," Joe muttered, wondering if he had the word 'Sucker' tattooed on the back of his head or something. "So much for my Good Samaritan act…"

"Here, this will help your head," a very deep, monotone voice said, and Joe jerked around, instantly regretting the quick movement as the room spun into motion and he fought down nausea in his stomach.

The giant was standing to the side of him, holding an ice pack.

For someone so big, he moved without making any sound, and Joe had never even known he was there.

_Good thing to know_, Joe thought even as he said, "You weren't so concerned about my health earlier." Begrudgingly, he did take the ice pack when the big man never said anything.

As Joe applied it to the back of his head, he was thankful that his hands were cuffed in front of him. It was still bit awkward though.

Eying his abductor, Joe asked," You aren't by any chance related to Lurch or something, are you?" The giant had the same dark brown straight hair and long square face as the fictitious butler from the old TV series. That and the height…

Muir just continued to look at him without saying anything.

"No sense of humor then, either, I guess," Joe said sarcastically, as he glanced around the room again. It wasn't unpleasant. In fact, it was very large, with a fireplace, and Joe was right now sitting on the edge of a huge canopy bed, although the linen did smell of mothballs.

His eyes lit on the balcony to his right, but the big man just shook his head discouragingly. "Long way down."

Joe scowled and turned back to the giant. "Okay, this is all a bit creepier than I usually like, so why don't we just cut to the chase and you tell me why I'm here and not at the mall with my girlfriend. This isn't exactly how I planned to spend my Saturday."

Sighing in exasperation when the large man didn't say anything, Joe looked back down at the clothes he was wearing, "Okay…then what's with this pirate's outfit? I get the feeling that there is a pretty pissed-off, and mostly naked, Black Beard stalking the streets of Bayport…looking for his duds!!" Joe grimaced at the snug-fitting black pants and very frilly white blouse he was wearing.

"And that's not even talking about your choice of wrist wear. I personally prefer something a lot less…hmmm, _restrictive_!!" The irritated teen finished holding up the handcuffs in display, the ice pack still held in his hands.

In answer Muir just indicated the door. "You are expected for lunch. Suitable attire has been provided."

Joe screwed up his face even more. "Where are my real clothes?"

Inwardly it bothered him that someone had changed his clothing, but he wasn't about to say that.

"These _are_ your real clothes," Muir said, and Joe was rewarded to notice a tinge of impatience in his voice. It might have seemed a bit childish, but it gave him some small satisfaction to irritate this man.

"_If I was Captain Hook, maybe_…. Look Goliath, I ain't exactly David, but I don't intend to hang around and play dress up doll for you, either. So I want to know why I've been brought here, and I want to know now!!" Joe's temper got the best of him and he stood up, fighting back a wave of vertigo and resisting the urge to stamp his foot like a petulant child.

"You are expected for lunch," Goliath repeated, but Joe dropped the ice pack, crossed his arms defiantly and refused to move.

Finally the big man sighed; he really did hate teenagers, particularly obstinate ones like this one. "You can walk or I can carry you. But you are expected for lunch and my employer detests tardiness."

"Yeah, well, so does my girlfriend, and I think this is way past 'tardy'," Joe didn't even mention how his brother or parents would feel – tardy Hardys were never a good sign….

Two minutes later though, when he was picked up and slung over the giant's shoulder with all the grace of a screaming two-year old, Joe realized he had much more trouble than just tardiness…

Much, much more….

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank was frustrated. Joe had been missing now for almost four hours, and they were no closer to finding out what had happened to him than they had been four hours ago!

True, they had found the van…but that just complicated things. Joe was going to the mall – this was about as much in the wrong direction of the mall as you could possibly go!

"Ahhh!" he screamed in frustration as he picked up a handful of leaves and flung them at the lake. Around him, the police had the area cordoned off, and a tow truck was just hauling the submerged vehicle out.

His father was off to the side talking to Chief Collig, and glanced up when he heard his son. He said something to his long-time friend, who nodded, and then the senior Hardy quickly crossed the distance between them and his older son.

"Frank?" he said, his handsome face marred with concern, "are you okay?"

The teenager just scowled at him, and his father sighed as he followed his son's gaze back to the van slowly being dragged out. "We'll find him, Frank. We just need to be patient."

Inside, the investigator felt like his son did, and hid a small smile as he wondered exactly what would happen if he let out a scream like that. He knew, as well as Frank did, that in a missing person case, the first 24 hours were crucial – which left them with only 20 now.

Tick…tick…tick….

Frank had actually just returned to the scene, after having taken off on his motorcycle and prowling the immediate area for any signs of his brother. His mind played cruel scenarios for him, each one ending up with Joe having been tossed out somewhere along the roadside, like used garbage.

_It wouldn't have been the first time_, he thought morbidly before shaking his head; pessimism would do nothing to help find his brother!

In the end, he had returned to the scene with the hopes that the police had found something else out, heaven knows none of his friends were any help, as no one had seen or spoken to Joe since last night.

"FRANK!" the sound of a girl's voice made him turn, and he forced a smile he didn't feel as he turned in time to see Joe's girlfriend, Vanessa Bender, hurrying towards him.

Giving his shoulder a supportive squeeze, Fenton moved back over to resume his talk with the police chief, leaving his son to deal with the obviously distraught girl.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Vanessa," Frank said, giving her a tight hug, "It'll be okay, you'll see. We'll find him."

Allowing herself to be comforted briefly, Vanessa pulled away and stared deeply into his dark brown eyes….S_o very different from Joe_, she thought, _but so very much the same too_, and when she spoke her voice betrayed her worry. "I'm just so scared, Frank. I have this horrible feeling that this time it's not going to be soon enough…that this time, he's gone for good."

Frank sucked in a sharp breath as he steeled his emotions and said, his voice strong with conviction: "Vanessa. I won't let that happen. Joe is my brother and _I will find him_. You have my word on that."

Vanessa smiled, heartened by the resolve she heard in the older boy's voice, and then as the van was finally pulled all the way out of the water and Frank turned back to watch once again, the girl whispered to herself, "I just hope you find him in time, Frank."

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

When Muir finally put an extremely pissed-off Joe down, the teen shot him a dirty look before he turned around, his eyes widening in disbelief. "_You have got to be kidding_."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hardy," the old man sitting at the head of a very long and ornate table said, "while I might kid about many things, I can assure you, that in this, I am very serious. Now please sit down…"

Joe just glared at him, and Mr. Rosado sighed and picked up a goblet of wine to smell before he tasted it, "or if you'd prefer, Muir can feed you."

Horrified as the large manservant moved towards him, Joe quickly sat down in the only empty chair with a place setting before it.

"Now, was that so hard?" the old man said as he put the goblet back down and smiled at his new guest; amused by the rebellious look he could see on the blond teen's face.

And then beaming widely, Antoine spread his arms out and said in a grand voice, "Joseph Hardy, welcome to Deathe House….Welcome home, _my child_."

To be continued


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry I am late posting this chapter. Thank you to everyone for your wonderful reviews. I do have to say though that it IS possible to cross your arms while wearing handcuffs - you can do that and _many_ other things :P I hope you endjoy this chapter - let me know what ya think... I could use a bit of cheer today. **

**The Collector**

**Chapter 4**

"Excuse me?" Joe said, shocked by the old man's words even as Muir moved to his side.

He heard the big man's monotone voice ask, "Left or right?" but ignored him, too fixed on Mr. Rosado and waiting for some further explanation.

"Muir is asking if you are right handed or left." Antoine enjoyed the intensity with which Joe was glaring at him right now – it brought out the color in his eyes.

"Left," Joe said, and was relieved when the big man leaned over and undid his handcuff on his left hand. His relief was short lived though, as the now free cuff was then secured to the chair he was sitting in, leaving his left hand free but his right hand still shackled.

"We don't want you leaving before the meal is through," the old man explained, "You Americans have no appreciation for food, and bolt your meals like wild animals. This way I can ensure the pleasure of your company for the duration of the meal."

"I'm not hungry," Joe groused as he tugged on the handcuff to see how strong the chair was. His stomach was still a bit queasy and he doubted he could keep anything down. Muir had hit him pretty hard.

"That's not uncommon when one first regains consciousness," Antoine consoled, "However, as Muir has prepared a rather broth-based menu for us this afternoon, I think it will serve you well to try and eat."

Joe looked up at the giant man in surprise, "He cooks?"

"Oh yes," Mr. Rosado said proudly, "Muir can do anything I need to have done, not only efficiently but with a fair amount of savoir-faire."

"Like kidnapping me?" Joe challenged, and then continued before anyone could answer, "Why? Is this some way to get back at Dad or something?"

Antoine was shaking his head vehemently. "Oh no, Joseph, I can assure you that I hold your father in the highest esteem, and it grieves me about this turn of events. However, in time your family will get past this—"

"YOU'RE NUTS!" Joe yelled, and tried to jump up, but Muir's large hand pushed him back down in the chair and held him there. "Let go of me, you big oaf!"

Muir looked at the old man, who nodded his head slightly, before he released the boy and resumed his position behind the chair.

"You know my father," Joe said as he glared at the old man, "you know neither he nor my brother will ever stop looking for me! They _will_ find me."

Mr. Rosado regarded his young guest for a few moments before he shrugged. "Believe what you will, my child. But this is your home now."

Muir left for a moment to bring out the food, and true to Mr. Rosado's word, it was soup and crackers. Joe sighed and sat back against the chair. This was not good.

Handcuffed the way he was right now, he knew he'd never be able to escape during the brief interval that the giant was gone. He'd just have to bide his time and make his escape at the first opportunity.

_Deathe House…of all the places to be_, Joe thought as Muir poured some broth into his bowl. Even if Frank figured out where he was, this old mansion had more secret passages and subbasements than any place ought to. And then Joe paled as he remembered something else the old Deathe manor was rumored to have had….A dungeon.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"We've picked up two other sets of fingerprints from the van, other than Frank and Joe's," Collig told Fenton as soon as the detective came into his office, "We haven't been able to find a local match, so we're running them through the federal files right now."

Frank was gone with Phil in Phil's car to try and see if they could find anything else. The chances were very slim of finding out anything, but Fenton knew his older son needed something to do – so he gave them his blessing and hoped they _would_ find something.

As proven in the past, Joe _was_ very resourceful so it wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that he had escaped from wherever he was – it was just not very likely.

But still, hope was not something Fenton Hardy would ever attempt to take away from his sons; particularly when one of them was missing.

"This was too smooth for first timers," the detective speculated, "They grabbed Joe and dumped the van in the lake, without any witnesses?"

"I know," the chief agreed grimly, "and just what was Joe doing out there anyway?"

Fenton sat down in the chair across from the chief and ran a hand through his dark hair. "I guess we won't know that until we find Joe. I've called Sam, he'll be here within the hour."

Sam Radley was another private investigator, and together they had made the agency the success it was today. There was no one Fenton trusted more to help him find his son.

"Good," Collig said, "the sooner the better." He too found Sam to be a very good investigator. "Joe's a minor, so I've already alerted the FBI."

"The more the merrier," Fenton said sarcastically, and then apologized as his long time friend raised his eyebrows in surprise. "I'm sorry Ezra, wherever my family is involved, I tend to lose a little perspective."

The older man sighed heavily and offered a weak smile. "We'll find him, Fenton. We'll find Joe and bring him home."

Fenton appreciated the words, and gave a nod before he sat back heavily in the chair and sighed, "Yeah, but the question is, will we find him before I have to tell Laura that her baby is missing?"

"Where is Laura?" Ezra asked, thinking about Fenton's wife.

"She and Georgia Hooper are gone on a spa weekend," the sleuth explained. "Georgia won it in a magazine contest – two nights, three days of pampering at an exclusive resort. She asked Laura, so I dropped them off at the airport yesterday morning. They won't be back until tomorrow night."

"So you're not going to tell her about this when she calls?" Ezra guessed, but then saw Fenton grin.

"That won't be a problem. The retreat is in Arizona and part of the pampering is a removal from the world – so no phones. That gives me until tomorrow night to find my son."

Ezra nodded. "All right then, I'll call down and see if they've made any more progress on those fingerprints."

"What about Joe's cell?" Fenton inquired before Ezra could pick up the phone, "anything on that?"

"One set of fingerprints other than Joe's. They match one of the unknown sets, but that's it so far. The last number that was called on the cell was to Mr. Pizza's."

Fenton looked at the police chief strangely. "_Mr. Pizza's_? I called the boys' friends myself, including the Pritos, and no one talked to Joe."

Ezra smiled grimly. "I know. Con's there now to find out who else might have received a call from that cell this morning."

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Frank," Phil Cohen said as he glanced across at his best friend, "would you please stop doing that!"

"Doing what?" Frank asked absently, as he peered intently out the window, his mind on overdrive about his missing brother.

"Clenching and unclenching your jaw!" Phil said exasperatedly. "You've been doing it ever since I picked you up, and you're making my face sore just looking at you."

Frank looked at him and had to consciously keep from clenching his jaw. "You're supposed to be watching the road…not me."

"Well it's kind of hard to do when that's all I can see out of my peripheral vision!" Phil groused good-naturedly, "Thank goodness you don't click your teeth when you do that, or else you'd be walking by now!"

Sighing, Frank turned back to the window. "It's just so hard."

The other boy, refocused on the road again, knew his friend wasn't talking about jaw clenching even as Frank continued:

"He's my little brother and I have no idea what's happening to him, Phil." He turned back to look at his best friend, his dark brown eyes haunted and worried looking. "I mean…is he being looked after? Or is he locked away somewhere, cold and hungry, wondering why I haven't found him yet? Or worse…is he—" His voice trailed off, anguished and unable to say '_is he dead?'_

"Oh Frank," Phil's voice was gentle even as he swallowed back the lump in his throat. "He'll be okay. You just have to believe that. I mean, this isn't the first time Joe's been…lost," he was hesitant to say abducted, "and you've found him before. You'll do it again this time, and I can guarantee you, when we do find him, he's going to have quite a story to tell us. And we all know how much Joe loves to tell a good tale."

Frank gave a small laugh, knowing Phil was right about that part – Joe did like an audience. And then he sighed and turned away; he didn't have the heart to tell him…to admit out loud that he'd had the same gut feeling that Vanessa had….

That this time, he was going to be too late.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Joe's mind was on overdrive. This meal seemed to last forever, and after a gripe along those lines, Mr. Rosado informed him that it was traditional in France for meals to last two hours.

"I didn't know you were French," Joe grumbled as the beginnings of a plan started to form in his mind. It wasn't the best of plans, but anything would be better than the slow torture he'd been enduring of tedious mealtime conversation with Lurch and Gomez Addams for the past two hours!

"I'm not," Antoine smiled, ignoring his young guest's attitude. "Well, not really. My mother was, though. Nice of you to be so interested in my lineage, Joseph. So very few young people are, these days, but then again, you are not your average youngster, now are you?"

"I don't really consider myself a youngster, actually," Joe countered as he pushed his bowl away without eating anything, "but since you see me as such you won't mind having Frankenstein's monster there take me back to my room." He put on a puppy dog face just for Mr. Rosado's benefit. "This wittle kiddie is needing a gweat big nap."

The old man hooted in laughter, his dark eyes twinkling at Joe. "Oh, my child. You are a rare jewel, aren't you?" And then he nodded to Muir. "How can I deny such a performance? Muir will take you back to your room until dinner time…or earlier, if I feel the need for some more amusement."

Joe tensed; he needed to time this just right…

Muir leaned over to undo the handcuff from the chair …

The teenager took a deep breath; already curling his left hand into what he was hoping would be a knockout punch….

As soon as he heard the click of the lock being released, Joe swung at Muir, throwing all his weight behind his fist…catching the giant under the chin….

And then he was bolting from the chair….

He was free!

For two seconds….

Muir, merely staggered from the punch, recovered instantly and managed to grasp the back of Joe's shirt with the tips of his fingers, just before the boy got out of reach. It wasn't much, but it was enough to throw off the teen's balance and as he felt himself stumble and then go down, he cried out, "No!"

And then he felt the giant's knee on his back, pressing him to the floor, even as Mr. Rosado applauded him from his end of the table.

"Bravo Joseph, bravo! What is a good meal without after-dinner theatre?"

Hauling the boy to his feet as if he weighed nothing, Muir turned to his employer awaiting instruction, and Antoine beckoned for him to bring Joe closer.

Joe struggled but it was futile. Muir was just too big and strong, so instead he focused all his contempt into the look he cut Mr. Rosado with, but the old man didn't mind. In fact, he had no trouble whatsoever in holding the vibrant glare.

Standing up from the table, the old man approached Joe and then reached out with a wrinkled, claw-like hand; he touched the boy's cheek, enjoying the revulsion that registered on Joe's face as he tried to move away.

"Very interesting," Mr. Rosado mused, "Your eyes remind me of a mood ring. It would appear that anger intensifies them…hmmm." He turned away and gave a dismissive motion with his hand, and Muir immediately began to 'escort' Joe from the room, but not before Joe felt a chill sweep over him as he heard the old man mutter, "Wonder what fear does to them…?"

To be continued


	5. Chapter 5

**The Collector**

**Chapter 5**

It was almost seven o'clock before Muir came to get Joe for supper.

When they had gotten back to the room after lunch, the big man secured Joe's right wrist to the bedpost, then left, and the teen had been trying to get loose since.

So by seven, his wrist was raw but he felt he was getting close to breaking the post on the canopy bed that he was cuffed to. He could feel it starting to 'give' a bit more when he shook it. Man, it was a solid bed!

Joe was figuring he'd break the post, slip the cuff off over it and then attempt another escape. He knew that Muir told him the balcony was too high for him to climb down, but the younger Hardy was not one to be that easily daunted.

And in the back of his mind were the last words he'd heard from the old man…. _Wonder what fear does to them…?_ Joe really had no intention of sticking around to find out!

"Dinner is in ten minutes," Muir's monotone voice informed him, "I have brought you suitable attire for the affair."

Joe scoffed. He was sitting up on the side of the bed and glared at the clothes that the manservant was laying out on the bed: another pirate outfit, but this one even had a multicolored raglan to wear overtop. Joe wondered if they borrowed this wardrobe from the _Pirates of the Caribbean_….

"What, no parrot?" he said sarcastically, but Muir just looked at him, the joke apparently lost on him; and he stood there looking at Joe expectantly.

"What?" Joe started, and then saw the fixed look and held up his free hand. "No way. You gotta be kidding! If you want me to wear that costume, you need to give me some privacy. I ain't taking off my skivvies with you here!"

The giant shrugged. "As you wish. I will do it for you."

Horrified, Joe found out he had no problem at all changing his clothes with Muir there, well, until he got to his blouse – that was difficult, as his wrist was still cuffed to the bed. So he put it on as best he could and then had to wait for Muir to unshackle him to finish the rest.

"Are you going to behave or do I need to secure both your wrists again?" Muir asked as Joe finished buttoning up his latest frilly punishment.

"Depends," Joe admitted, "on whether or not I get another chance to escape."

"You haven't done so, so far," was Muir's reply as he started to handcuff Joe again, but then stopped and left him unfettered, attesting to his belief in Joe's ability to escape, "and you will not. To the dining room, please." Muir cocked an eyebrow and finished, "Or shall I just carry you again?"

"I'm walking," Joe griped, and started out of the room, being careful to take in every detail on his way downstairs. When he got out of the handcuffs, and if the balcony plan _wasn't_ workable, he was determined he'd know the layout anyway. "So, you going to tell me why I'm here…? Or does it just give the old nutcase some thrill to dress me up like a…like a…" Joe looked down at his new clothes and grimaced, "like a _matador_?"

Muir didn't say anything.

Sighing, Joe was thankful for only one thing – that Frank couldn't see him now.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Any luck yet?" Tony Prito asked as he slid into the booth next to Frank, and glanced from Frank to Phil expectantly, but both just shook their heads.

They had decided to drop by Mr. Pizza's to grab something to eat, after spending the last couple of hours trying to find anyone who might have seen even the smallest thing. But no one had – or at least no one was admitting to it.

"Not yet," admitted Frank as he sat back in his seat, and then gave his Italian friend a wry smile, "But thanks for helping out Con. It's the first solid lead we've had…the only one we've got, actually."

Tony remembered taking a call for one of their regular Saturday lunch customers – a teen named Liam Brady, and he gave the info to Officer Riley. It was a long shot, as Tony had no way of knowing if the call he took was the one that came from Joe's cell, but it was the only thing they had to go on.

"The chief sent a unit to Liam's house, but so far no luck. No one's home," Frank admitted, and then nodded to Biff when the muscular teen sat down across from him, "but it doesn't make sense. Liam knows Joe and, as far as I know, has no beef with him – why would he have anything to do with Joe's disappearance?"

Biff picked up a slice of pizza and took a bite. He listened to Frank and then added, "Actually, if anything, Liam owes Joe."

"What do you mean?" Tony asked as three sets of eyes were now turned on the bulky blond.

"About two weeks ago, Liam ran into car trouble and Joe stopped and gave him a hand."

"That was Liam?" Frank said. Joe had been late picking Frank up from Phil's and told him he'd had to give a guy a hand with his car. But he never knew it was Liam Brady.

Biff chuckled, "I guess Joe figured he'd save himself a lecture so he left out that minor detail."

"_Lecture_?" Frank said, appalled , "I wouldn't have given him a lecture! Just because Brady is a delinquent who would cut your throat as soon…" he trailed off and then gave a sly little smile, "hmmm, actually, yeah, I would have. "

As the friends shared a small chuckle over that, it did nothing to lessen their concern for Joe. And as silence fell over the four teenagers, Frank wondered if this is what it would be like if they didn't find Joe in time….

_Would there always be this silence?_

_ooooooOOOOOOoooooo_

As Joe took his seat and was cuffed to the chair again, Antoine watched him but said nothing.

Muir left to bring out the food, and placed it on the table but still the old man said nothing.

"You're awfully quiet," Joe said after about ten minutes of silence was grating on his nerves. This time he did eat some of the stew Muir had prepared, surprised by just how good it was. He couldn't be fainting away from hunger if he was planning on busting out of here a little later.

Antoine pushed his bowl away and sat back in his chair, regarding the teen for a long time. And then he gave a quick nod of his head, and Muir was gone again.

"So, how long did it take to train him to do that?" Joe asked, noting that the manservant seemed to know exactly what his employer wanted with a mere tip of his head.

Mr. Rosado still said nothing. He just lifted his napkin, wiped the gravy off his thick lips, and then put it back down without breaking eye contact with Joe.

"Okay, now you're really beginning to freak me out," Joe said as he pushed his own half eaten stew away, his appetite suddenly lost to a tightening in his stomach. He could sense something wasn't right – something was going to happen. "What's with the silent treatment?"

The sound of slight scuffling drew Joe's attention to the side of the room where Muir was dragging someone in.

Joe felt the blood in his veins freeze. It had not even occurred to him that there might be anyone else here – someone else who had been abducted.

But there was.

A woman, probably in her 30's, Joe surmised, and Muir was pulling her along. Although she was struggling, like Joe, she was no match for the giant. The gag in her mouth muffled her screams.

"What's going on?" Joe demanded, standing up at the table although there was nowhere he could go.

He was ignored.

The gag was taken from the woman's mouth and she started to shriek, "NO! OH GOD! NO!" She turned her horror-filled gaze on the teenager at the end of the table and she begged him, "Please, you have to help me! Please don't let them do this! PLEEASSSE!"

And then with one fluid motion, her screams were abruptly cut off.

Joe stood frozen. He had never seen anything like it. And as he was forced to witness, he suddenly got a very sick comprehension of just what kind of danger he was in; and as the coppery smell of her blood wafted around him Joe lost the battle he'd been having with his stomach….

Amused, Mr. Rosado waited until Joe had recovered himself and he stood up and gazed down lovingly at the dead woman before he placed a kiss on her cheek and then nodded for Muir to take her away.

And then he turned to the pale, slightly trembling teenager leaning weakly against the table, and he smiled widely. "Why Joseph, I must say, fear brings out the most interesting color in your eyes."

He moved towards Joe, and the teen lowered his head, unable to look at the face of the madman, now speckled with the poor woman's blood.

"Hmmm," he said, hooking his finger beneath Joe's chin and forcing his tear-streaked face to look at his, "I wonder what grief does…"

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Muir finished the ritual with the body before wrapping it in a tarp, securing both ends and moving it into the back of the limo. He would get rid of her after he secured the boy for the night.

As he left the room, the woman's eyes stared lifelessly at his retreating form from their new home…a jar of formalin.

_The newest addition to Rosado's collection_….

To be continued


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you for all your wonderful reviews and support. And yup, Rosado and Muir are quite the pair, lol!!

**The Collector**

**Chapter 6**

By the time Muir came back and escorted the traumatized teenager to his room, Joe knew for certain he had to get out of here…now.

Swallowing back the bile in his throat, he still couldn't repress a shudder as the memories of the woman's death washed over him. In his seventeen years he had seen many things; too many at times, but nothing like her death, and he knew it would haunt him for a long time.

Blinking back the tears, he tried to force himself past that.

He needed to get away.

Joe had no doubts in his father or brother's capabilities – Frank would find him, he always did. However, this time he couldn't wait to be found. He could not bear to witness something like that again!

His plan to escape was thwarted though, just after Muir cuffed him to the post again for the night. Joe was expecting him to leave like he had done after lunch, but this time, Muir pulled out a syringe from his pocket and uncapped it.

Eyes wide with fear, Joe fought, but it was useless, and as he drifted off into a drug induced sleep, he prayed that the face he woke up to would be his brother's.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

The sound of the phone ringing brought Frank stumbling out of his bed even as he glanced at the time. It was 4:22 A.M. His heart lurched with worry even as he heard his father's voice from the kitchen.

Pushing open the kitchen door, Frank saw his grim-faced father on the phone while Sam Radley stood just behind him. Sam turned when he heard Frank come into the kitchen. Both men looked exhausted and Frank knew neither had been to bed yet.

He, himself, had only collapsed about three hours ago, and even then he had fought the need to sleep, tooth and nail.

"I understand," Fenton was saying, as he leaned back against the refrigerator and sighed, "Thanks Ezra."

Hanging up the phone, the detective looked at his partner and his son. "That was Chief Collig," he said unnecessarily before continuing, "They finally tracked down the Bradys. It would seem that a couple of Liam's buddies found the van abandoned alongside the road and took it for a joy ride. They called him for a ride when they lost control and ended up in the lake."

Frank scowled even as his father finished, his face taut with constrained emotion, "Collig got the names of the two kids and he's following up on that right now."

"So the lake isn't the real crime scene," Sam said as he poured himself another black coffee and offered one to Frank, who shook his head. He'd had enough caffeine for a while.

"No," Fenton agreed, "But we won't know where for sure until the police have talked to the joyriders."

"Damn," Frank said forcibly, making both men look at him, "because of them, we've wasted all this time chasing our tails when there could be a real clue somewhere else!"

Fenton understood his son's frustration, and put an arm around his shoulder. "Why don't you try and get some more sleep? I'll wake you if we find out anything."

"What about you?" Frank asked, stifling a yawn, as he could see how tired his father was.

"I've still got a couple of things to check out and then I'm right behind you."

When Frank fixed his father with a look that told him he didn't believe him, Sam piped in.

"Don't worry Frank. I'll knock him out if he isn't in bed within the hour."

"Thanks Sam," Frank said as he started towards the door, but was stopped when Sam continued.

"We will find him Frank. With the three of us working together, Joe has no choice but to be found."

The dark-haired teen smiled at the resoluteness he heard in the man's voice. Nodding his head in appreciation, he trudged back upstairs, although he wasn't so sure there was any sleep left there for him.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

It was an exhausted-looking Chief Collig who was standing on the Hardys front step at 8 A.M the next morning when Frank opened the door.

"Chief?" He stood back and let the older man in, taking in the drawn lines on his face and knowing this wasn't going to be good. He turned around and called out to his father and Sam, "DAD! SAM! Chief Collig is here!"

Although both detectives had finally gone to bed only about three hours earlier, they were already up and showered.

"Ezra?" Fenton asked as he strode into the living room from the kitchen, closely followed by Sam.

Frank closed the door.

"I'm sorry Fenton," Collig started, "we've interviewed the two kids who admitted to stealing the van, but they never saw anything. They said they saw the van on the side of the road. It was unlocked and the keys were in the ignition. No one was around so they took it for a ride…right into the lake. They then used Joe's cell, which was on the passenger seat, to call their friend for a lift."

He paused and rubbed his face before continuing, "They did show us where they found the van. It was pulled off the road about two miles from here."

"Did you find anything?" Sam asked, as both Fenton and Frank watched the police chief intently. They knew him well enough to know his answer before he even said anything.

"The scene's been contaminated. Too much time's passed…there are tire tracks but even as we were pulling up a large transport truck pulled right onto the spot." Ezra ran a hand across his weary face. Like the Hardys, sleep had not been a recent luxury. "The FBI is still trying to process it, but it doesn't look good."

"_No,_" Frank said hoarsely; he couldn't believe that his brother was missing and they had nothing…not even a crime scene anymore! "What do we do now?"

The three men exchanged an uncomfortable look but no one said anything as Frank already knew the answer. They would keep looking; but now instead of looking for a needle in a haystack…they were looking for an invisible needle in a field of hay.

Joe opened his eyes and groaned. It wasn't Frank standing there. It was Muir. And try as he might, he could detect no trace of concern in _those_ deadpan brown eyes!

His head felt thick as he closed his eyes and wished he could just go back to sleep. For one moment he had thought the whole thing was a bizarre dream, but the huge man waiting somberly beside his bed was anything but a dream.

"Breakfast is in twenty minutes," the monotone voice informed him.

"Oh great," Joe muttered sarcastically, still not moving. His right arm was numb and his shoulder was aching from the position he was lying in, and he knew it was going to be painful once he did get up. "_Twenty minutes_ to get ready? I think I'm terrified to see what the get-up is this time."

Muir gave no indication of hearing Joe. He just released the handcuff from the bed and then waited, as the teen hissed in pain when the motion caused exquisite pain, like shards of glass, to go shooting up from his wrist, as his shoulder added its own protest.

When Joe was finally sitting up and trying to rub some feeling back into his numb right arm, Muir passed him a towel. "You will need to shower first."

Joe took the towel and stood up. He already knew there was a shower in the small bathroom just outside the bedroom door, as he'd become acquainted with the facilities already.

When they got there, Muir started to go in with him, but Joe turned around and held up his hand. "Whoa. Wait a second, little buddy; there ain't no way you're coming in here with me!"

Muir looked at him and Joe persisted, "You let me use the bathroom by myself last night! What do you think I'm going to do this morning, _escape down the drain_?"

"Fine," the big man finally conceded, probably more from realizing they were wasting time than from Joe's argument. "You have seven minutes to shower and ten to get dressed. If you are not out in seven minutes, then I will come in."

"No problem," Joe said, pushing Muir across the threshold and then closing the door. _Seven minutes_? He was intending to be out of the shower in less than six, just in case Muir's counting wasn't too good!

And exactly six minutes later a mostly dry and shivering Joe was let back into his room. Deathe House was old and most of the heating came from fireplaces and old radiators in each room, which left the hallway unheated, save for whatever it got from open doorways.

While Joe's room did have a fireplace, it was not lit for obvious reasons, and so the only heat he had came from the radiator, which was sufficient…unless you were wet!

Shivering, he stood by the side of the bed and groaned – another outfit, definitely gypsy this time.

"What is it with this nut and silk?" he grumbled as he hurriedly dressed, ignoring Muir as he did so. "I myself would love to see something in denim right now…_preferably jeans_!"

He heard Muir sigh behind him and grinned. He could tell he was getting on the giant's nerves.

_Good_, he thought, _if you're irritated with me, then you're bound to make a mistake. And when you do…bam, I'm outta here_!

Turning around, he smiled pleasantly, walking towards the door. "Come, Bluto. I have a whole new day to try and figure out how to get out of here."

Behind him, Joe never saw the scowl that hardened Muir's face before he hid it behind the controlled mask he usually wore; if he had, Joe would have been delighted.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Once again Mr. Rosado was sitting at his end of the table, and he smiled when he saw his young guest.

"Ah Joseph, I trust you slept well!"

Joe sat down and Muir affixed the handcuff to the chair again. He picked up the napkin and put it in his lap as he quipped, "My bed is lumpy, the room service sucks and I got a test tomorrow. What say we call this an 'experience' and you have Lurch there drop me off at home? I'll tell Dad I got delayed by a mad costume outfitter and he'll never be the wiser."

Antoine laughed, his eyes twinkling merrily as he did so, "Oh child, you warm my heart. Now come, let's eat the good food Muir has prepared for us and talk about something I know you'll be interested in…" his voice trailed off and he made sure he had 100 of Joe's attention. "_Let's talk about Frank_."

To be continued…


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you to every one for reading and reviewing. You guys keep a gal feeling loved ____ This chapter references an event that happened in another story, however, you do not need to read that story to understand the context ___

**The Collector**

**Chapter 7**

Joe's eyes blazed in anger as he jumped up. "You leave my brother alone!"

Muir pushed him back down in his seat and then put bacon on Joe's plate.

"Protective are we?" Antoine asked, very much amused.

Joe was on his feet again. "If you so much as touch a hair on his head—" and then broke off to glare up at Muir as the big man pushed him back down again and gave him two pieces of French toast. "Stop doing that!"

"Now, now, Joseph," Antoine cajoled, "No need to get like that. I only said I wanted to _talk_ about your brother, nothing else."

Joe remained seated and Antoine smiled. "I am just curious. What's he's been like as a big brother? See, my child, I too had an older brother and I am wondering if every sibling relationship is as…how shall I say it… '_Malignant_' as ours was. Does Frank like to scare you, Joseph? Does he like to dangle you above your fears and relish in your weakness? My child…does your brother live to torment you?"

"NO!" The forcefulness with which Joe said it amused the old man, and only Muir's hands on his shoulders kept him in his seat this time. "Frank is the best brother and friend anyone could _even_ dream of!"

"_Really?"_ Mr. Rosado asked, bewitched by the ferocity he saw in his young guest's eyes. "That is a quite a pronouncement, Joseph," his voice dropped low as he finished, "because, dear boy, not all dreams are so nice."

Muir poured tea for the old man and moved around towards Joe with the pot.

"So he is a good brother, then," the old man restated as he sipped the hot liquid. "Why?"

Joe put his hand over his cup to indicate that he didn't want any tea, but then pulled it back quickly when Muir started to pour anyway. He glowered up at the giant and could have sworn he saw a hint of amusement lurking behind his unblinking eyes.

"_Why_?" Joe picked up a piece of bacon and chewed it. His stomach was telling him in no uncertain terms that he couldn't deny he was hungry any longer.

"Yes, why is he so good?" Antoine watched the teenager carefully – this was very important to him.

"I don't know, he just is," Joe said as he finished the first piece of bacon and started on another, "and he always has been. Even when we were little, Frank was always there when I needed him to be…without me even asking. He just always seems to know."

Joe's face grew sad as he thought about Frank – it had been less than 24 hours since Joe had seen him, but he missed his brother terribly. He would never let Mr. Rosado or Muir see just how terrified he really was…so he concealed his fear behind his bravado and saucy comments. But deep down, where the real Joe was hidden, he desperately wanted his brother to come and make everything all right – like Frank always knew how to do….

He forgot for a moment where he was or who he was talking to. "When something bothers me, I go to Frank. No matter what it is, he listens to me and offers advice…sometimes not the best advice, but still…advice. And I know that no matter how busy he is or where he is, if I need him, he'll be right there. "

Joe paused as he swallowed back the lump that was in his throat just thinking about his brother, and knowing he might never see him again. And this time when he spoke, his voice was soft and heavy with emotion. "He told me once that he was a watcher while I was a doer, and between the two of us, we had everything covered…" and then Joe's voice trailed off as he looked at Mr. Rosado, and the soft melancholy expression on his face hardened.

He finished resolutely, "Frank will find me, Mr. Rosado. He always does. He's too good of a big brother…not to."

The old man sat back and pondered what he'd heard for a few long moments. And then he glanced at Muir, who immediately moved to take Joe back to his room.

"Hey I'm not finished eating," Joe protested, wondering why the meal was being cut short. "We only just sat down."

"Sorry, my child," Antoine said, his face blank of all expression, "but I have something to do this morning, so reluctantly I must cut this short."

"Can I at least have a doggy bag?" Joe called back, he was still hungry and he could hear the old man's laughter reverberating through the house behind him.

"_You are precious, my child, aren't you?"_

But Joe still didn't get anything extra.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Any luck?" Chet Morton asked as he came in through the kitchen door and opened the fridge to see if there was anything worth pilfering.

Years of being Frank's best friend had afforded him a familiarity with the house that few other friends enjoyed – raiding the fridge was one of them.

Frank sat down at the table and shook his head, "No. Everything has been a complete waste of time."

"What do you mean?" Chet grabbed an apple and sat down across from the dejected Hardy.

"The van being in the lake and Joe's disappearance aren't related." Frank then went on to recount everything they had found out from Chief Collig. "Bottom line is, my little brother is missing and if the ground had just opened up and swallowed him whole, we'd have a better chance of finding him."

Chet paused mid-bite and stared at his best friend before saying gently, "That doesn't sound like the Frank Hardy I know."

"No, it doesn't," Frank agreed before leveling with his oldest friend. "Chet, it's something Vanessa said to me yesterday while we were at the lake. And it's hit home a bit more than I want to admit."

"What?"

"She said that she felt this time we wouldn't find Joe in time…" Frank's dark brown eyes were wide with fear as he whispered, "and I feel it too."

Sighing deeply, Chet put the apple down and sat back in the chair. He regarded the dark-haired teenager sitting in front of him for a few moments before he said, "Yeah, but Frank, it's just a feeling, and sometimes feelings _can_ be wrong."

Seeing that his friend wasn't convinced, Chet continued, "You remember that day when we were little kids and Joe almost drowned in the creek saving that puppy?"

Frank's eyes glazed over for a moment and he nodded; yeah, he remembered that day very well.

"Well I never told you this before, but when you dived in the water looking for Joey I just had this horrible feeling that we were too late. It was bad…I felt like I wanted to throw up." Frank looked at Chet and the stout boy continued, "And then when you did find him and he wasn't breathing, I knew I was right."

"But Chet," Frank said after waiting for his friend to finish the story, and Chet didn't, "Joe didn't die. Dad performed CPR on him." He couldn't understand where his friend was going with this.

Chet nodded. "Yeah, he did. But that's my point - feelings can be wrong. I would have bet my life that we were too late, if anyone had asked me to…but I was wrong. Isn't it possible that you're wrong this time? I mean, let's not go making any pronouncements before we give Joe a chance."

Frank stared at Chet strangely and then he smiled his first genuine smile of the day. "Thanks, Chet. I needed that." And then he couldn't help but add, "Since when did you get so smart?"

"It must be all those chemicals I'm breathing in at work these days," Chet grinned, picking up the apple and taking another bite.

"Oh geez," Frank said, "I'm sorry buddy. With everything that happened I forgot you started your part time job yesterday. How'd it go?"

Chet beamed. "Did I ever mention to you that I love photography? Frank, this is my dream job – behind the counter at a film processing store. Me, Chet Morton! Who would have guessed?"

"I'm happy for you," Frank said, and he meant it, knowing how much Chet did enjoy his photographic hobby, but then his smile faded as he thought of someone else who enjoyed taking pictures…albeit, they were usually of one pretty girl, Vanessa Bender.

"Don't give up hope just yet, Frank," Chet said softly, as he recognized the change in his friend and knew that Frank was thinking about Joe. "That kid has been beating the odds since the day he was born."

"Yeah," Frank said as he got up to get his first cup of coffee of the day, "but what if this is the day when the odds catch up?"

Chet didn't say anything. There was nothing he could say.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"What happened to Mr. Rosado's brother?" Joe demanded, just out of curiosity, as Muir secured his wrist to the bed post again.

The big man stopped, stared him straight in the face and said in his deadpan voice, "He ate him."

And the worst of it was that Joe had no idea if Muir was kidding.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

The fisherman cursed his luck as he stared at the object entrapped by his net – although he wasn't 100 sure of what it was, he had a very good suspicion.

"Damn," he muttered as he finished hauling it in and watched it fall onto the boat's deck. Taking out a boning knife, he deftly slit open the blue tarpaulin and then swore as his worst suspicions were confirmed.

"Radio the coast guard – we've got a floater," he shouted out to his first mate, whose face turned a sickly shade of gray as he looked out onto the deck.

The fisherman crossed himself before taking off his jacket, kneeling down and placing it over the body. He felt a tear slip down his weather-beaten face as he saw the damage done to her….Who could have done this to another human being?

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Chet was just leaving when the doorbell rang, and he stuck around to see who it was, just in case it was someone with news about Joe.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Frank opened the door and then smiled in surprise. "Mr. Rosado?"

The short man smiled up at the teenager. "Ah Frank, so nice to see you again. Is by any chance, your father home?"

"Actually, he and Sam are out right now," Frank answered, even as he ushered the old man in.

"Sam Radley is here too?" Mr. Rosado said, surprise clearly evident in his voice.

"Yeah, with Joe missing, Dad pulls out all the stops," Frank admitted.

"Then your brother is still missing?" Mr. Rosado asked as he took off his coat and hat and passed it to the teenager. "That is too bad. Do you mind if I wait around for your father and Mr. Radley? It has been a long time since I have seen young Sam."

Frank chuckled, hearing the other detective being called 'young Sam,' even as he nodded. "Sure, I've got phone duty until Dad gets back anyway. "

"Good," smiled the old man, "then you and I can get to know each other better."

"I think I'd like that," Frank admitted, before quickly introducing Mr. Rosado to Chet, who said a quick hello and then left – he had to get to work.

The older Hardy boy led the old man to the kitchen and put on a cup of tea for him. He figured two things: First, Mr. Rosado could keep him company until his Dad got back; and secondly, that the old man would probably be very interesting to talk to.

He certainly seemed like a character….

Of course, Frank had no way of knowing just how right he was….

To be continued.


	8. Chapter 8

Sorry about the delay so here is three chapters at once. I hope you like it!

**The Collector**

**Chapter 8**

Joe started working on the loosened bed post as soon as Muir left the room. He had to get out of here! He had no idea what kind of game Mr. Rosado was playing when he asked about Frank, but Joe kicked himself for telling the old man _anything._

"From here on in," he grunted as he shook the post again, "my lips are super-glued!" And then with a sharp crack, the post broke and both it and Joe fell back onto the bed!

The teenager grinned even as he groaned, and rolled out from under the post and the part of the canopy that had come down with it – he was free!

Now he just had to get out of this room…and then this house!

Mr. Rosado graciously accepted the cup of tea from Frank and then beckoned for him to sit down next to him.

"Come Frank. Sit with me for a bit," the old man enticed. "I love talking to young people, it heartens me to hear their enthusiasm."

Smiling, Frank sat down across the table from him, grateful to have a distraction as he waited for his father to get home. Fenton and Sam had gone to the crime scene with Collig in the hopes that while the scene was contaminated, someone in the area might have seen something.

Fenton asked his older son to stay home in case Joe's abductor called, or in the unlikely event that Joe himself called. The teenager had protested, but in the end saw the common sense of what his father was saying. He did wish his mom was home, though, as she usually took this job!!

But…if Joe did manage to make a phone call, Frank would hate to have missed it, and didn't trust any recording device to pick up _everything_. With his younger brother, a lot of what Frank read was more vibes than words…so he stayed home. For now.

The FBI had not needed to put tracing equipment on the Hardy phone line, as Fenton's house was already set up for it – he was a top private investigator…. It came with the territory.

So Frank was glad of anything that would help pass the time. Both Chet and Tony were working; neither Biff nor Phil had come by yet; Callie was out of town until later this evening and Vanessa was at church with her Mom – she figured they could use all the help they could get.

"That's a very interesting watch you're wearing," Mr. Rosado commented as he sipped his tea.

Frank looked down at the watch as he smiled sadly. "It was a birthday gift from Joe," he said, "He even had it engraved."

Taking off the watch, he let the old man admire it, turning it over to read the engraving. _Best friends by choice_.

"Cliché," Antoine said as he smiled and passed the watch back to Frank, "but very nice. You and your brother must be close."

"We are," Frank admitted, "I'd do anything for Joe and he'd do anything for me."

"Really?" the old man said, sounding curious. "Why?"

"I don't know," Frank said, thinking about his brother. "That's just how it is. He always knows when something's bothering me…and no matter how upset or down I am, Joe just has this way to make me feel better. I never have to say anything to him…he just knows. Everyone always thinks it's me who takes care of Joe but…" his voice trailed off. Frank was normally a very reserved person, and found himself uncomfortable saying anything more in front of the old man, surprised by how open he had already been.

"That must be nice," Mr. Rosado remarked after a moment, as he took another sip of his tea and appraised the dark-haired young man in front of him. "I had an older brother, but unfortunately our relationship was slightly different."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Frank said sincerely, as he found the more time he spent with the old man, the more curious he became about him. "You said 'had,' he's passed away now?"

Antoine's wrinkled face crinkled as he chuckled, "You are your father's son – very perceptive….And yes, I'm afraid Horatio died a long time ago."

His old face clouded over with something akin to affection, and Frank felt bad asking about the brother. But then the look was gone and the old man continued, "He was killed, in a hunting accident. Very tragic…but enough about me, I want to hear more about you."

Frank shrugged. "There isn't much to tell." He hated talking about himself. "Would you like a slice of banana bread? My Mom made some before she went away for the weekend."

"I wondered where Laura was. I was hoping to see her," the old man admitted, as Frank stood up to slice the banana bread.

"She'll be back later tonight," the teenager told him and then frowned, "I hope we've found Joe, by then."

Mr. Rosado didn't say anything as Frank cut up and then gave him a buttered slice of banana bread. The old man took a bite and then smiled appreciatively. "Thank you, Frank. I think this is the best banana bread I've ever tasted – your mom must have a secret recipe."

The teen laughed. "Yeah, she does. No one else can make it just like her."

"Would you mind if I took a piece with me…for later? This is really quite wonderful," the old man asked, and Frank nodded.

"No problem. I'll put a piece in a container for you."

"That would be nice," Mr. Rosado said as he took another bite, "How is the search going for your brother?"

Frank sat down heavily and sighed. "Not very good," he admitted, and then went on to tell the old man about the setbacks. In hindsight, Frank was surprised with how much he told Antoine, as he was usually not that open-mouthed – that was normally Joe's job….

But something about the old man loosened his tongue.

Mr. Rosado, ever an attentive audience, listened in silence and then when Frank had finished speaking, he watched him intently as he asked, "So you don't think your brother is dead?"

Frank shook his head adamantly. "No…never. As long as he's missing I'll never give up hope or stop looking for him. And neither will Dad. We will get him back."

"You sound very confident about that," the old man said as he finished the last of his tea.

"I am. See, if there's one thing Joe is, it's resourceful. You can bet anything that as hard as Dad and I are looking for him, he'll be working even harder to escape. Or at the very least, trying to contact us."

Frank's dark brown eyes burned with intensity as he spoke slowly and emphasized each word: "Whoever took him have no idea who they are dealing with. _My brother will be found because we won't…__I__ won't…accept anything less."_

Mr. Rosado nodded approvingly, even as his eyes simmered with their own intensity. _We shall see, young Hardy_, he thought, _we shall see_….

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Getting out of his room turned out not to be difficult at all – the door wasn't even locked, further attesting to how little faith Muir had in Joe's ability to escape.

"Silly oaf," the teen muttered as he quietly moved into the hallway and stood for a moment, listening. Although he knew Mr. Rosado was going out, Joe had no idea if the old man was back, if Muir was around, or who else was working for him.

Joe hadn't seen anyone other than Muir and that poor woman, but that didn't mean anything, since he had only been out of his room…to the dining room…and bathroom. That left a whole lotta house to have employees or more 'guests' in.

Either way, he'd err on the side of caution and work on the assumption that there were other 'employees' he had not yet seen. And if this worked out the way he hoped…that he would never see.

The teen figured he'd get out of the house and make his way to the Mortons' farm, which was only a couple of miles west of Deathe House. The police could then come back and go through the house thoroughly, and deal with Mr. Rosado and company.

_Well, big brother,_ Joe thought as he moved soundlessly down the hall, _you'd be proud of me. For once I am going to get __myself__ the heck out of Dodge first…._

Of course, if he could find a phone and call anyone, that would change things considerably. But Joe did not want to waste time he knew he didn't have looking for a phone – he just wanted out of this house, now.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Damnit," Fenton hissed as he sat back on his heels and looked up at his partner, "this is impossible!" He had been watching the forensics team working the crime scene and, although he knew it was futile, he had knelt down to look at the mess of tire tracks himself.

"What do you want to do, partner?" Sam asked, as he too felt frustrated by the steady stream of dead ends. Never having had children, Fenton's sons were the closest thing he knew to fatherhood, and he was anxious to have Joe found as well.

The two kids who had taken the van on its final joy ride had been their strongest hope for a lead. But that was dashed when they claimed that they saw nothing except the empty van.

Of course, both detectives knew they could be lying, but their hands were tied as to what to do. Normally, they would have tried intimidating the truth from them, but these were just kids…and maybe that was the truth.

Maybe Joe _had_ just vanished into thin air….

Standing up, the dark-haired detective sighed, "I don't know Sam, honestly I just don't know."

"Well," said the other sleuth as he got a far away look on his face, "we haven't knocked on the door of every house in Bayport yet."

Fenton looked at Sam and gave him a wry smile. "We haven't at that, my friend, have we?"

Looking down at his shoes, Sam shrugged, "I've been aching to break these babies in properly anyway."

"Legwork?"

"Legwork."

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Well, Frank," Mr. Rosado said a little while later, "I don't think I can wait for your father or Sam any longer. I have other things to attend to. However, if you can tell them I dropped by…" his voice trailed off and Frank nodded.

"No problem Mr. Rosado, and thanks for coming by. You've been great company."

"No problem," the old man said as he gently squeezed Frank's arm, "and thank you for the banana bread. You have no idea how much I'm going to enjoy it later on."

Frank walked him to the front door and passed him his coat and hat. "I know Dad and Sam are going to be disappointed they missed you."

Antoine smiled as the teen opened the door for him. "I'm sure they will. Well, goodbye, young Hardy, I've got a lunch date that I'd hate to keep waiting."

The old man approached the black limo parked out front, and Frank couldn't help but gasp as he saw the man who got out to open the car door for Antoine.

He was a huge hulk of a man that reminded Frank of a cross between Lurch from the Addams family and Frankenstein's monster, and as the limo drove away the teen was struck by an odd thought, _and Joe thought Mr. Rosado was creepy before…. I wonder what he'd think if he got a load of the chauffeur!_

_ooooooOOOOOOoooooo_

Joe had made good progress, but the only problem was, he was lost. It made him think of line he'd heard from a movie before, although he couldn't remember which one: W_e may be lost, but we're making good time._

Deathe House had been built by a madman, and was set up more like a maze than a proper house. There were hallways with dead ends, stairs that seemed to go further into the house instead of up or down, and intersections.

_What kind of house has intersections?_ Joe groused as he stood in the middle of a hallway on the first floor and had no idea which way to go. Every door he tried was either a closet or locked, and now he was frustrated. It should not have taken him this long to get out of the house.

All he needed to do was find a window and crawl out! But this dark corridor had everything but that.

Finally out of sheer frustration, and letting his own impatience get the better of him, Joe decided he'd had enough fooling around. He needed to get into one of those locked rooms! There was a very good chance that they would have a window, and now that he was on the ground floor, he could jump out one easily enough.

Picking the next door on his left, Joe tried the doorknob and was pleasantly surprised to find this one unlocked.

Poking his head into the room, he was even more pleased to see no one in the room. Cocking his head to the side, he listened but heard nothing.

Glancing behind him one more time, Joe slipped into the room, closed the door and looked around.

It was another bedroom very much like the one he had been kept in and it not only had a window…but a balcony!!

"Yeah!" he whispered as he hurried towards it, and he had just placed his hand on the knob to open the door when he heard a sound behind him.

The hair prickled on the back of his neck as he turned around very slowly. All the color drained from his face as he wondered, _where the heck did he come from_?

Walking stiff-legged towards him was the largest dog the boy had ever seen….A very unfriendly-looking dog, at that.

And as he looked at the dog, the beast growled.

_Uh oh,_ Joe decided, _this isn't going to be good_.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Collector**

**Chapter 9**

_For an old guy, he certainly does like to surround himself with large things, doesn't he?_ Joe thought sarcastically as he didn't dare move. He knew the worst thing to do was to try and run – he'd stand no chance at all.

This was no mere poodle Mr. Rosado had chosen to arm himself with, but an old English Mastiff – and a large one at that.

Joe wasn't afraid of dogs, however he wasn't foolish, either. As a boy, he'd had a Newfoundland dog that tipped the scales at about 150 pounds, and Joe thought _that_ was big; but staring at this fawn-coloured muscle-bound canine with a black muzzle and a whole lot of teeth, he realized Hero was small compared to this beast.

With all paws on the ground, this dog was a couple inches shy of three feet, and Joe was betting it tipped the scales at over 200 pounds, easily.

And now he was stuck. Unless he could distract the dog…make friends with it…or it got bored with him, he was stuck.

The dog had stopped advancing towards him, but kept his teeth bared.

"Oh what a lovely spiked collar you have, Fido," Joe said softly, refusing to make eye contact with the dog; he thought the collar was a definite case of overkill, as if the animal needed anything else to look menacing…

His mind was frantically racing as he tried to think of the best way out of this….Just what were you supposed to do when the leviathan of dogs attacked you?

He knew to remain still and avoid eye contact, but the third part of the equation was a problem – _slowly back away when the dog loses interest….W_ell, with his back to the balcony door now, Joe had nowhere to go.

_Okay, okay what else?_ He racked his brain trying to think. L_arge dogs usually go for the throat…._ _Yup, he qualifies as a very large dog! __So try to protect my throat…but don't raise my arms, because he might take it as a signal to attack._

_Position myself so that one leg is slightly in front of the other to protect my stomach and possibly use my foot if I have to – lose my foot more like it!! But don't move, because the dog might attack…,_

Joe could feel his body break out in a cold sweat – everything he knew was contradictory to the situation he was in!

The dog stopped growling but continued to glare at him.

The only other thing he could think of was to yell "NO" at the dog in the most commanding voice he could manage. The only problem was, Joe was afraid that it wouldn't work and he'd get no second chances….

He was stuck.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Chief Collig was not impressed. If it wasn't bad enough that the younger son of a long-time friend was missing, he now had a Jane Doe in the county morgue.

And from the brutality with which she had been killed, the experienced police chief had not doubts about the sanity of whoever they were after.

If he had any, all he needed to do was look at her face.

Or rather, what was left of it….

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

As they drove, Mr. Rosado slid down the privacy screen between himself and Muir. The giant turned his head slightly to hear the old man.

"There were witnesses." Antoine let his voice trail off softly as he leaned back against the limo seat and closed his eyes before he continued. "After you pick up a special gift for Joseph tonight, you can take care of them."

"Names?" Muir asked tonelessly.

"Only one," the old man said, "but he'll be forthcoming with you, I am sure. Tie up the loose ends Muir….You know how much I detest a mess."

With scarcely a nod, Muir turned his attention back to the drive as his employer slid the screen back up.

Liam Brady. He only needed that one name. Muir would have no trouble finding out the rest.

_He can be very persuasive when he has to_, the old man chuckled to himself, and then took a brief nap. He was looking forward to talking to his young 'guest' when they got back, and so he wanted to be fully rested.

The kid had been most entertaining so far.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Biff and Phil showed up at the house at the same time, anxious to hear any word on Joe.

"Any news?" Biff asked as they came in through the kitchen door.

"Zilch," Frank admitted miserably as he glanced up at them from where he was sitting at the kitchen table drinking a cold cup of coffee. "Dad and Sam are going house to house to see if anyone remembers anything. Even the smallest thing could be the key to getting Joe back!"

Biff sat down at the kitchen table and stared at his best friend's brother while Phil went about making fresh coffee.

Frank looked terrible.

He was sitting down with the cordless phone on the table in front of him – just watching it. Dark circles under his eyes attested to his lack of sleep, as worry paled his face, and concern kept the dark locks disheveled. He looked anything but the calm, cool and collected Hardy brother that was normally Frank.

But then again, his brother was missing and they didn't even have so much as a 'gunman on the grassy knoll' theory to go on.

"What can we do?" Phil asked as he sat down across from his best friend. He too could see how much this had taken from Frank already, and he didn't even want to consider what would happen if Joe was never found, or if he was already dead.

Frank shook his head as he sat back and rubbed a hand across his tired face. "That's just it. I don't know. We have no clues, no witnesses, a contaminated crime scene…. I mean, my Dad, Sam, the police, heck even the FBI are out knocking on doors…and I don't know what to do." He looked down at the phone grudgingly, "Except baby-sit Ma Bell."

Biff traded a look with Phil, who gave a curt little nod. "Well, we can talk to Liam's friends; you never know, they might tell us something they wouldn't tell the police or the Feds."

Frank looked at the phone and Phil piped up, "I'll stay here, Frank, in case anyone calls."

"Are you sure?" the older Hardy brother asked, and the little spark that came back into his eyes at the thought of getting back in on the search, erased any doubts Phil might have had about staying behind, and he grinned.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Frank stood up and stretched. "Thanks Phil. I owe you."

"Well, you can repay me by finding your kid brother. My car's due for an oil change!"

This made Frank chuckle, as he gave his best friend a grateful pat on the back. "With that as an incentive, how can we fail?" Then turning to look at the big blond teen, he added, "Let's go bond with a couple delinquents."

Frank knew it was a long shot, going to see the two kids, but Biff was right, maybe they had held back from the authorities, and would be more willing to talk to other teens. It was worth a try.

_But then again_, Frank thought, _anything to get Joe back is worth a try_.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Muir glared at the broken bed post and fallen canopy.

He was really beginning to seriously hate this kid now.

Neither dog nor boy moved, but Joe knew it was only a matter of time….He could feel his nerve starting to falter…he was going to have to move…soon.

Every muscle in his body was screaming at him from the tension, and his right wrist, still tightly held in the handcuff, was stinging at even the slight weight from the other dangling cuff.

The only thing that was keeping him from moving right now was his own sheer stubbornness. He was not about to have it ended this way, by becoming dog chow for an ancient madman's pooch-zilla!

Just when he thought he couldn't last another moment, the door opened and a very pissed-off looking Muir came into the room. Any satisfaction that Joe might have gotten from getting a rise out of this guy, was erased as he saw the murderous look on the goliath's face.

Muir looked ready to kill him!

Without saying anything, he moved past the dog, grabbed Joe by the arm, roughly pulled him away from the balcony, and dragged him out of the room.

And something told Joe to just keep his mouth shut….

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Hey, there's Liam," Biff said as they passed by the Brady house, and saw a sullen looking teenager raking leaves. Although he had given the names of his friends to the police, as of yet, Frank had no idea who the kids were.

Recognizing the driver in the car that stopped in front of his house, Liam stopped raking, leaned on the rake and watched him warily. Like everyone else in school, he knew Biff Hooper.

Seeing the other teen with Biff, his wariness turned to a frown.

Younger than Frank, Liam knew who the dark-haired boy was, but that was about it. And then he only knew him as Joe Hardy's brother.

Liam was in a lot of Joe's classes and got along with the younger Hardy.

So he figured right away…

Joe's best friend + Joe's older brother a chat about Joe's van.

And what do you know…he was right.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Muir dragged an unresisting Joe up and down so many different hallways, that by the time they actually got to where they were going, he was so confused he couldn't have found his way back to the room with the dog, if Muir challenged him to.

Opening a very large and ornate door, the giant pulled Joe into a huge room that was obviously a library, with a mammoth fireplace dominating the room.

Sitting next to the fireplace in a tall-backed velvet chair was Mr. Rosado.

Muir tossed Joe at Mr. Rosado's feet. "He was in Ajax's room."

The old man raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You've met my baby and lived to tell about it? You truly are more charmed than I've given you credit for. More charmed and much doughtier, I'm afraid."

Joe didn't say anything. In truth because he wasn't sure anymore what to say, and as he could almost feel Muir's glare burning into his back, he really didn't fancy seeing just how far he could push the giant right now.

"Tsk, tsk," the old man said as he appraised the youth at his feet, "I am disappointed in you though, Joseph. I have treated you with the utmost hospitality, and you repay me by breaking my furniture and scaring my pet?"

Glaring up at the man, Joe attempted to rise, but Muir's knee on his back kept him on the floor. "_Scared your pet_? He could have swallowed me whole! And what hospitality? I don't know what warped world you're from, but in mine, we don't kidnap people and handcuff—"

Joe broke off with a gasp as Muir's knee pressed down so hard on his back that he found it hard to breathe.

And then it was no longer hard to breathe… he couldn't breathe at all!

Muir was suffocating him!

Desperately, Joe glanced up at Mr. Rosado and was horrified by the look on the old man's face. Antoine was drinking in his terror as Joe fought to get air into his lungs…but couldn't.

Muir's weight was just too much.

And then a shocking revelation shook Joe: Mr. Rosado was going to watch him die…because it amused him.

Struggling weakly once again, Joe was helpless. There was nothing he could do. And as his world faded to black, he once again prayed he'd wake up to see Frank, or his father or Biff or…or…or anyone but Muir….


	10. Chapter 10

**The Collector**

**Chapter 10**

"Look, the boys don't know anything 'cept what they've already told the cops," Liam said as Biff and Frank stood in front of him.

Biff's face hardened. "Well, maybe Frank and I would like to ask them that ourselves. Who was it?"

Liam looked hesitant, and Frank spoke. If he and Biff were doing good cop/bad cop, he was definitely the good cop…for now.

"Look Liam. I just want to find my brother, okay. I don't care what your friends were doing – honestly. And maybe they didn't see anything…but then again, maybe they did. We just want to talk to them." He stared the other boy directly in the eyes, and finished, "Liam, this is my kid brother…I've got to do something."

The punk sighed and looked at Biff for a moment before he met Frank's intense gaze again. "I like Joe and that's the only reason why I'm even talking to you guys right now. He's always treated me decent. Give me some time—"

"Time's something we don't have," Frank cut in, his dark eyes imploring Liam to help them. "Something that Joe doesn't have."

Glancing around as if he was afraid someone might overhear him, Liam lowered his voice. "Okay. Eight o'clock tonight at Mr. Pizza's. We'll be there, but you're buying the pizza."

Frank gave him a relieved grin. "I'll even throw in for dessert. Eight tonight? We'll be there." But then the grin disappeared and Frank's face became serious - deadly serious - as his voice lowered and he left no doubts in the other boy's mind about trying to pull a fast one.

"But Brady, if you or your friends screw me over, you'd better pray to God he'll have mercy on your souls because I won't….Is that clear?"

Biff was shocked – he had never heard Frank speak like that to anyone.

"Crystal," Liam said, and then he indicated the house. "I gotta get back to leaf raking before my old man skins me alive."

Nodding, Frank turned and headed back towards Biff's car.

"So what do we do until eight?" Biff asked as he got into the car and started it up.

"Let's go home," Frank said, sounding tired. "I'm going to grab a quick nap. If these guys can give us something to go on, it might end up being a very long night."

"Sounds like a plan. And who knows…" Biff offered, "Maybe Phil's got some news for us."

Frank gave the blond-haired teen a weak smile, although he was pretty sure that if Phil had anything to tell them, they'd already know.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

When Joe opened his eyes, he let out a resigned sigh. He was back in his room, lying face down on the bed with both hands firmly cuffed behind him.

He didn't even need to turn his head to know Muir was watching him.

When the big man saw the teenager was awake, he lowered his face towards Joe's and said, his voice no longer a monotone but seething with enough animosity that Joe actually shivered and tried to move away, "You're more trouble than you're worth – remember that…or the next time you won't be waking up."

And then Joe cried out in pain as Muir jabbed the syringe into his arm.

"Sweet dreams," the large man whispered to the boy, as the world swam sickening for a moment before Joe's eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.

...

Antoine saw Muir leave the room and looked at him.

"He's sleeping," the big man said as he looked down at his employer.

"You didn't kill him then?" the old man confirmed.

"It was close," Muir admitted, and they started walking down the corridor together.

"Good," Mr. Rosado smiled, "I'm not quite finished with him yet." He paused to catch his breath; Muir's stride was much longer than his own. "Fenton's son has proved the most entertaining yet. But…" he looked up fondly at his giant, "you can have him when I'm done. He'll be the _piece de resistance_ in our collection…."

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"Well?" Phil asked, meeting Frank and Biff at the door, "Did you find anything out? What did Brady say?"

Frank ushered his friend back into the house. "Nothing yet. But we have an eight o'clock date, tonight, with Liam and his friends. Hopefully we'll get something then."

"Where you meeting them?" Phil asked as he poured his two friends some fresh coffee and set it down on the table.

"Mr. Pizza," Frank managed as he smothered a yawn, "So I figured I'd try to grab a couple of hours of sleep before then."

"Good idea," Phil agreed, immediately taking the coffee from Frank before the boy could take a drink. "Go lie down. I'll hang out and keep an ear on the phone."

"Thanks Phil," the other teen said as he was already started towards the stairs, "Did anyone call?"

"Only Vanessa and your Dad," the other boy continued, "Your Dad called to remind you he's picking your mom up at 8:30 tonight, and Van wanted to help but I told her that the only thing she could do, right now, was hang out by her phone in case Joe tried to call her…. I know it's a long shot…but honestly, guys, I didn't know what else to say to her….She's pretty upset and…well…I'm not that great about things like this!"

That small exasperated admittance made both Frank and Biff chuckle.

Phil Cohen, while brilliant with anything electronic, sucked when it came to girls. He got all awkward and tongue-tied around them. And while he was usually fine with Callie and Vanessa, as he thought of them as one of the guys, he found it harder to know what to say when either of them was upset.

"Geek," Biff said affectionately.

"Jock," Phil shot back, as Frank just shook his head and went upstairs.

He knew his friends would make themselves at home, and he was grateful for that. While he wanted their comfort, he didn't want to have to play host. Not when the only thing he could think about was getting his brother back home.

"Hold on a little while longer, kiddo," he whispered as he lay down and closed his eyes, "just a little longer…."

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"What time is Laura's flight?" Sam Radley quietly asked his partner, as they once again stood at the spot where the kids had stolen the van.

The past couple of hours had been unproductive, and both investigators were beginning to feel the desperation as each passing hour brought no new leads on Joe.

"8:30," Fenton said absently, looking down at his watch. He ran his fingers through his dark brown hair in agitation before he turned an anguished gaze on his best friend and admitted, "I don't know how to tell her, Sam. I just don't."

The other investigator reached across and squeezed his friend's shoulder in silent support but he had no advice to offer. _How do you look at your wife and tell her that her baby had just vanished…and that you had nothing to go on…not even a tire track?_

"We're investigators, for cripes sake," Fenton spat out, as if reading his partner's thoughts. "I can't accept this…that my own son is missing and I can't find him? No Sam, there has to be something…somewhere…that we're missing."

"Fenton—" Sam started, trying to placate his increasingly disconcerted partner, but Fenton cut him off.

"No Sam. _Someone_ has my son! And because of that, I have to tell my wife that her baby is missing, again…!" Swallowing back the surge of helpless anger that threatened to overwhelm him, Fenton turned his back on his friend and walked away.

Sam let him go. He knew Fenton well enough to know when he needed a moment. And right now, he needed more then a moment.

And after that moment, heaven help whoever had his son….

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Chet Morton was surprised when he turned around and saw who his next customer was. He'd only started his new part-time job yesterday and already he felt like he'd been there forever – he loved photography and people, so working the counter at a film processing lab was his idea venue.

"Mr. Rosado?" he said, smiling at the old man he had met only hours earlier at the Hardys' house.

The old man looked slightly shocked but recovered quickly. "Young Mr. Morton, isn't it? So nice to see you again."

The teenager beamed, impressed that Mr. Rosado remembered his name. "Yes it is. Please call me Chet."

"Chet? Chester?" Antoine briefly considered the name and then nodded. "I like that name. I do believe it's an English name meaning a fortress or camp." Regarding the stout boy critically he added, "Very fitting."

Chet felt heat rise in his cheeks, embarrassed by the scrutiny he saw on the old man's face as he looked at him. "Um. Yeah, I guess so."

And then wanting to direct the conversation away from himself, he asked, "Can I help you with something?"

"Ah yes, work before play," Antoine said, a smile crinkling his face, "You have a roll of mine that should be ready now. A. Rosado."

"Just give me a sec," Chet said amicably as he opened the drawer they kept the envelopes of developed pictures in, and searched through them until he finally found the one he was looking for.

"A bit of a shutterbug myself, "Antoine was musing, "I usually prefer to develop my own film….However I've not had a chance to set my dark room up properly as of yet."

"Well here they are," Chet said, but as he went to hand the package to the old man it slipped from his hand, fell onto the counter and all the pictures spilled out!

With one fluid motion, Mr. Rosado scooped them up and had them tucked back in the envelope, surprising Chet by how good his reflexes were.

"Sorry," the boy mumbled.

Antoine fixed him with an unidentifiable look for a moment before he smiled, "No apology needed. These things do happen." And then he continued before Chet could linger on what he might have seen in those brief seconds, "I am surprised though, if you don't mind me saying. You seem a bit of an odd duck to be hanging out with the Hardy brothers."

"Wh-what?" Chet stammered, completely thrown off by the comment.

Mr. Rosado was putting the pictures in his pocket as he continued, "Well, you don't seem their type. I mean, dear boy, you do seem nice enough, but definitely not of the same caliber."

Stunned, Chet didn't know what to say for a moment. Recovering, he finally managed, "F-Frank's been my friend since Kindergarten!"

"Probably a good thing," Antoine agreed, "Since I very much doubt you'd make their friend list now. Little children are like animals, they are friendly to everyone until they learn their own kind. I mean, look at you child, round and soft – hardly _hardy_ material…if you don't mind the pun."

Chet's face turned red, but before he could say anything, Mr. Rosado turned to leave. "But, dear boy, enough about you." And then he left, leaving a stunned teen in his wake.

_What the hell had just happened?_ Chet thought, as what the old man said stung him. But he hastily brushed it off and instead of letting it hurt him, he became angry.

Mr. Rosado knew nothing about him! Or about his relationship with Frank and Joe! If he did, then he never would have said anything….

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Muir opened the door for his employer, who smiled up at him as he got into the back of the limo.

"Now that was most entertaining," the old man commented, "the look on young Morton's face was almost worthy of more attention… _almost_."

As the car pulled away from the curb, Antoine opened the package of pictures and started looking at them. Leaning back against the seat, he sighed in satisfaction – the pictures were perfect.

Tapping on the privacy screen, he waited until Muir rolled it down and then said, "Tomorrow we prepare young Joseph's portfolio."

The big man nodded and then closed the screen, even as Mr. Rosado sat back and shut his eyes, the pictures firmly clutched in his claw-like hand.

_Yes, tomorrow,_ he thought, _time to stop playing and get down to business…_

As the old man nodded off in the back, one of the pictures slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. There it stayed until he awoke and picked it back up, smiling down at the wide blue eyes, forever captured for posterity's sake, as he did so….

She had been so beautiful…in life and then in death.

TBC - don't worry, I promise our blond boy will soon be out of this, one way or the other :P


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you to every one who has taken the time to read and review, your comments have been thoroughly enjoyed. **

**Can I take a moment though and remind readers of two things (and this is geared towards an anonymous reviewer who left some scathing comments as a review on another writer's story): **

**First, if you don't like where a story seems to be going, then stop reading. _Don't_ harrass or badmouth a writer just because they have decided to write THEIR story as they saw fit. Nasty comments do nothing except show everyone publically how bitter you are. **

**And secondly, it takes a lot to write a story and even much more to put it up for public enjoyment so it is just bad form to then chastize the writer and tell them they did it wrong, especially IF the story hasn't even been completed yet. To assume you know exactly what kind of twist a story will take is - ah - rather presumptuous. So again, please remember if you don't like a story, stop reading. Don't flame. Thank you!**

**The Collector**

**Chapter 11**

Joe groaned as he slowly opened his eyes. He was really getting tired of this. His head felt thick and he knew it was a leftover effect of whatever Muir drugged him with.

He was still lying face down on the bed, and turning his head slightly, he was surprised that his bodyguard wasn't there. It seemed like every time he opened his eyes lately, it was to Muir.

"Oh Frank," he moaned, his mouth feeling like sandpaper, "Where are you, big brother…?"

Closing his eyes again, he doubled over with a sharp pain in his stomach. It took him a minute to recognize it, as first he thought Muir must have done something….But it wasn't – he was just hungry. Very, very hungry.

Joe had no idea what time it was, or even what day. He'd been keeping track pretty good until they started drugging him and now he wasn't sure if this was Sunday or Monday anymore.

_How many days had he been here now? _

_When was the last time I ate? _he wondered as his stomach cramped up painfully again. Since his abduction, he'd managed a couple pieces of bacon and… and….?

Joe frowned. Is that all he'd had? He didn't remember eating anything Saturday because his stomach had been too queasy, and then what he did eat didn't stay down after he saw…

Moaning, Joe refused to finish that last thought because with it came images of that poor woman's murder….

He'd been sick after that, he remembered that too plainly…and since then…

Joe shook his head in frustration; all he could decide was that his stomach had a pretty good reason to be pissed off at him.

His body was aching from being bound for so long – particularly his shoulders, back and arms. Stifling a gasp when he tried to move and the handcuffs dug into his already abraded right wrist, he actually had to stop for a moment to collect himself.

That pain had been unexpected and exquisite, rudely reminding him of how hard he had worked to get loose the last time…only to be foiled by this accursed house and then that mammoth mutt.

Forcing himself past the discomforts and pain, Joe rolled onto his side, swinging his legs onto the floor, and managed to push himself up into a sitting position. His head swam as he did so, and he closed his eyes, willing the affects of the drug to go away.

_Gotta get out of here_, his mind kept telling him, and only his sheer stubbornness got him on his feet and moving.

But now came his biggest problem – his hands were still tightly secured behind him and, unlike rope, Joe couldn't just rub the metal away.

Staggering, he did get to the balcony door and then leaned against it for a few minutes until the room stopped spinning.

_Okay,_ he thought, _let's take a little look and see if things are as bad as Muir said they were._ He was thinking back to the giant's comment about using the balcony as an escape route.

Using his face, Joe managed to push aside the curtain that hung on the door, and he pressed his face against the glass and sighed, fighting back the wave of depression over the hopeless of his situation. As he'd already known, he was on the second story, which wasn't actually that bad. The problem was, with his hands secured behind him, Joe couldn't climb down.

The room he was in faced the back of the house and the teen knew if he _could_ get loose, and down the side of the house, it would only be a short run to the woods. Once in the woods, the trees would afford him some coverage and give him a chance to get away.

The only lucky break he could see was that the Mortons' farm was on the other side of the woods, so all Joe had to do was keep to the woods and he'd be okay.

One of the great things about Chet Morton being Frank's best friend since they were little, was that the three of them had spent a lot of time playing in the woods near the Mortons' farm. So Joe was somewhat familiar with the area.

Of course they never went as far as Deathe House, but they'd come close in their older years. The only thing that kept them away…and that attracted them at the same time…was the rumor that the house was haunted.

Joe now felt pretty sure that that rumor was true. The only thing was…what was haunting Deathe House was a hell of a lot more scary than any ghost.

Hearing the door opening behind him, Joe slowly turned around and sighed in resignation. Muir was back. And as he heard the same monotone voice he felt his resolve weakening.

"Dinner is in ten minutes."

"Ah Joseph, so nice to see you looking so…alive," Mr. Rosado greeted the sullen-faced teen when he and Muir arrived in the dining room ten minutes later.

Once again Joe was dressed in an elaborate frilly silk blouse and form-fitting black pants. But unlike the previous times, he'd said nothing about it.

Seeing the old man sitting there so smug and oblivious to the cruelty of this, intensified Joe's realization that the longer he was here, the more precarious his position became.

His mind was still haunted by the murder he'd witnessed, and now more recently by his near escape and the look on Mr. Rosado's face as Muir suffocated him.

He just really wanted to go home….

Numbly Joe waited for Muir to remove the handcuff from his left wrist and fasten it to the chair before he sat down. He saw a silver tray with a lid on it placed before him but he didn't reach for it.

Although his stomach was still cramping painfully, his heart was too heavy to carry an interest in food. He knew _that_ would garner a response from his brother if Frank was here, and his mouth twitched in an almost sad smile.

Frank loved to comment on the 'bottomless pit' that was Joe's stomach…but not today. Not right now….

Every time the boy opened his eyes and saw that he was still here, Joe lost something. He didn't know what, but something.

Maybe it was hope….He wasn't sure, but whatever it was, it pressed down on his spirit just a little bit more each time until now, after coming so close to escaping, he just felt too weary to even eat.

"I have a special treat for you today," Antoine said, oblivious to his young guest's subdued demeanor, "straight from your mother's kitchen."

Horror-filled blue eyes met his gleaming ones as Muir lifted the lid off the tray and Joe felt sick – he recognized it right away.

It was a piece of banana bread. And without even tasting it, he knew it was his mother's.

"You were at my house," Joe said, more a comment than a question. His heart tightened painfully as his vision burned, just looking at the slice and knowing from where it came.

"As a matter of fact I was," the old man purred, enjoying the look on his young guest's face. He couldn't quite place the emotion but he was enjoying it anyway. "I spent some time with your brother. He really is a remarkable young man—"

Mindless of his restraint, Joe lunged at the old man. "LEAVE MY BROTHER ALONE!" and then fought when Muir tried to reseat him.

Throwing all his weight back against the chair, both it and Joe toppled backwards onto Muir. As they collapsed on the floor, there was a loud crack and the chair handle snapped, freeing Joe's handcuff.

Disbelieving his good luck, but refusing to waste any time contemplating it, Joe scrambled off the giant, staggered to his feet and was running, without so much as a backward glance at either Mr. Rosado or Muir.

This time he wasn't going to chance running into the dog again, and headed for his own room – he had a plan.

Behind him, he could hear Muir getting to his feet, and he wasn't sure, but he thought he heard the old man cursing at him! Joe wasted no time reflecting – he couldn't afford to be caught again!

Taking the stairs two by two, Joe's mind was working feverishly about what he could use as a rope. He only came up with one thing, and that wasn't exactly the best of ideas.

All he could hope was that it would get him close enough to the ground that when he let go, he wouldn't have far to fall….

Racing into his room, he locked the door – like that was going to keep the monster out of his room for very long – and grabbed one of the tiebacks off the post of the canopy bed.

Throwing open the balcony door, he quickly knotted the sash to the railing and with one quick prayer, threw himself over….

As he was falling, he was sure he knew what the translation was for Tarzan's yell as he swung through the jungle on that vine….

_Please hold_, _please hold_…_!_

And then the railing snapped.

**A/N - Yikes, Joe! Hmmm.. maybe to show how nice I am, LOL, I'll put up the next chapter...**


	12. Chapter 12

_See, I can be nice... just not to Joe :P What can I say, I only hurt the ones I love :P_

**The Collector**

**Chapter 12**

"Hey, how was work?" Phil asked when Chet came into the Hardy kitchen and closed the door. Biff looked up from the body-building magazine he'd been reading at the table.

Frank was leaning against the counter eating a banana. He'd just woken up and only come downstairs a few minutes earlier. The sleep he'd had was dreamless and he felt and looked much better now…much more like the calm, cool and collected Frank Hardy who _would_ find his brother.

Chet was still scowling, and it didn't take a genius to figure out something was bothering him. Their robust friend was a normally very easygoing person, so to see him looking so flustered put them on alert – something had happened.

"Chet?" Frank asked as he finished the banana and watched his oldest friend slump down in a kitchen chair, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Chet lied, not really wanting to tell his friends about his run-in with Mr. Rosado – particularly Frank, as he knew that the dark-haired boy thought highly of the old man. And part of the boy was embarrassed by what Rosado had said, as it touched his insecurity, regardless of how hard he tried to deny it.

Over the years, Chet had been on the receiving end of many cruel and heartless remarks and sometimes – every now and then – one or two of them actually hit home. And this was one of those times.

Chet loved his friends like brothers, and they had helped him fill the void that his sister, Iola's, death had left. But he also knew he wasn't like them…like any of them.

He wasn't as strong as Biff, or as smart as Phil, and he didn't have Tony's charm.

And Frank and Joe?

Mr. Rosado had been right – the Hardy brothers were in a league of their own.

And he wondered if things had been different, and he hadn't met Frank that chilly September morning, if they would have even given him the time of day, now?

Chet hated himself for doubting, but just chalked it up to another flaw in the growing list that he'd amassed since the old man left.

"Chet?" Frank's concerned voice brought him back from his dark thoughts, and he forced a smile on his face, although he knew his friends could see through it.

"It's nothing. Just one of those days," Chet said vaguely, and then tried to change the subject. "Any word on Joe?"

Frank looked at his friend for a moment before answering. He wasn't buying the phony persona the other boy was trying to project, and knew something was bothering him. And he would have to guess by the way his friend was avoiding looking at them, it was something pretty big.

"No, not yet." The dark-haired boy gave Biff and Phil a look, and they got the message – he wanted to talk to Chet alone.

"Frank, I'm going to use Joe's computer to check my email, okay?" Phil said, already moving towards the kitchen door.

Biff stood up, taking the magazine with him. "And I think I'm going to check out Joe's mag collection. He told me he has a new hot wheels one."

Frank nodded – the excuses were flimsy, but so was Chet's façade, so it was very fitting. "Okay, guys."

As soon as the other boys left, Frank sat down in the chair across from his oldest friend, folded his arms and looked at him sternly. "Spill, Morton."

"Frank—" Chet started to protest, but Frank fixed him with a look and cut him off.

"I've cracked tougher nuts than you, Chester – you've met my kid brother. Now what's up, and don't give any of that 'nothing' crap. This is me you're talking to."

Chet looked into his friend's concerned face and sighed. But instead of telling him what happened, he just asked, "Frank, if you met me today, do you think we'd be friends?"

The question threw the older Hardy for a loop, much to Chet's amusement. It wasn't often that he put the stunned look that was on Frank's face right now, there. That was usually Joe's job.

And then Frank just said, "Yes."

"But why?" Chet wanted to know. "We have absolutely nothing in common."

"What's that got to do with it?" Frank responded, as his dark eyes searched his friend's face, trying to figure out where this was coming from. "There are two kinds of friends, Chet. The kind that you're friends with because you like the same things…and then there are people who are your friends because you like them."

Chet looked at Frank, and the older boy continued, "And I like you. You make me laugh, you're kind-hearted, reliable, and a lot of fun to be around." Something told him that his dejected friend needed to hear this right now. "And no matter what kind of spot Joe or I have gotten into, you always stick by us and never get tired of trying to help. Chet, what more could I want in a friend?"

"Really, Frank? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?" Chet was hesitant to just toss off his self-recriminations that easily.

Frank said resolutely, "Really, Chet. Besides that, look at me and Joe – we're pretty different, but that doesn't change how I feel about him. In fact, it's how he's different that makes him special. That makes him Joe."

"Yeah, but…" Chet was reluctant to finish, but the other boy pressed.

"But what?"

"But you're both athletic and handsome and—"

Frank cut him off abruptly. "Chet, do you think I'm so shallow that I judge my friends by their appearance?"

"No! No…" Chet backpedaled and then stopped.

"My friend," Frank continued gently, "you are my friend for many reasons and not one of them has to do with appearance. It's your inner strengths that I'm concerned with. So stop selling yourself so short. And stop selling your friends even shorter!"

Reaching across, he squeezed the other boy's shoulder. "If I met you today…I'd still want you to be my friend."

"_And me!"_

"_Me too!"_

Frank and Chet turned in surprise as the kitchen door was pushed open and Phil and Biff came in and echoed Frank's sentiment.

"Sorry…we were worried about Chet," Phil said by way of explanation. He and Biff had hidden outside the door and listened.

"What can we say?" Biff put in, "When you hang out with detectives, their bad habits are bound to rub off?"

"But we do mean it," Phil said, looking at Chet. "I mean, look at me. I've got 'geek' post-it noted on my forehead—"

"And I'm a 'dumb jock,'" Biff interrupted, and then stuck his tongue out at the look Phil shot him.

"But we're still friends—" Phil tried to say.

"Most of the time," Biff cut him off again, and then everyone burst into laughter as Phil took the magazine that Biff had been holding and whacked him across the head.

"Stop interrupting me!"

"Guys…guys!" Chet broke it up before he got to see Biff squish the living daylights out of Phil. He was smiling again and his normally sunny disposition had been restored….When his friends stopped and looked at him, he said, genuinely, "Thanks. And I mean it."

Frank smiled and said, "Now my friend, do you want to tell us what happened at work that put you so off kilter?"

Chet pursed his lips and debated for half a second about whether or not to tell Frank. But in the end he decided his friend needed to know.

It had been made painfully apparent to Chet that there was a lot more about the old man than what appearances suggested. He could be downright nasty….

_ooooooOOOOOOoooooo_

Joe hit the ground hard and then lay there stunned for a few moments before he struggled to his feet.

He had no time to waste.

But when he tried to make his first step, he cried out in pain as his right ankle buckled beneath him and he went down on his knees.

_NOO!_ His mind screamed; _this can't be happening!_ Not now, not when he'd finally gotten out of the house.

Using the side of the house as leverage, Joe forced himself back to his feet – he didn't think his ankle was broken but it sure as hell hurt. He hoped it was just a sprain.

Steeling himself for the pain that he knew this would cause, but refusing to accept the alternative, Joe took a step…and then another…and then another….

His leg screamed with each step and tears of pain and frustration burned his cheeks, but he refused to give up…he just needed to get to the woods.

...

Muir watched Joe's progress from the ruined balcony.

The boy had just made the tree line. He was moving slowly but still moving.

Growling, he slammed his fist into the side of the house. It was getting dark, and even if he used the dog, he didn't stand a good chance of finding Joe. Ajax was not a tracker.

_This isn't over yet_, he vowed to the retreating figure, _not by a long shot._

Going back into the house, Muir glared at the old man standing in the room. "Are you done 'playing' with him now?"

Antoine's face darkened as he gave a curt nod. "Find him, Muir. I will not lose him."

"There is a farm a couple miles from here. It backs onto the woods," the large man said. "He'll go there."

"Then so will you," the old man said, "and you will get him back for me."

"What about the witnesses and the _gift_—"

Antoine cut him off in an uncustomary show of anger. "Damn it, Muir! If Joseph gets to that farm it won't matter, now will it? Find him and get him back – I don't care how you do it, just do it!"

Nodding, Muir started to walk past him when the old man grabbed his arm, stopping him. "If nothing else, bring me his endowment…"

The big man looked at him for a moment, long enough for Antoine to see the fleeting glimpse of anticipation pass over the giant's face. He knew his faithful servant would take even more enjoyment procuring this 'donation' than usual. Fenton's son had gotten to Muir, and for some reason that amused the old man immensely.

"With pleasure," Muir stated, and then hurried downstairs to get what he needed.

He had no intention of bringing any more of Joe back to his employer than what could satisfy the jar of formalin.

The collection would grow by one, tonight.

...

As Muir left the house, the old man went to the library and sat down. He thought about the irony of the timing of Joe's escape.

Looking down at the mastiff, Antoine snorted softly, "Young Joseph said he would do anything for his brother…and he has, just by virtue of his escape, now hasn't he?"

The dog looked at him as he continued, "Muir will get what I need and then he will take care of the witnesses. _As for the gift?_ My young guest has saved his brother's life….We won't be killing Frank tonight."

His face crinkled in remorse as he sighed, "Such a pity though, I really would have loved to have seen the look of grief in Joseph's eyes. I suspect it would have been very satisfying."

Sitting back in the chair, the old man closed his eyes and waited.

TBC - I only have one thing to say. Run, Joe, Run!


	13. Chapter 13

**For any of my Supernatural fans, never fear, I am writing again. It's just been slow going and I've had a hectic time of it of late. And for my Hardy Boys fans - thanks for all your wonderful comments! I won't bore you with anything else, here is the next chapter and I hope you like it :) **

**The Collector**

**Chapter 13**

Frank looked at Chet in shock – he couldn't believe what he was hearing about Mr. Rosado. It just didn't make sense.

Sure, the dark-haired sleuth had only met the old man twice now, but there was nothing in his manner that would suggest that he would treat anyone like that, let alone someone he knew as a good friend of the brothers.

Biff and Phil exchanged a look – although neither had met this man, so they couldn't comment on him one way or the other.

Chet kept his eyes firmly fixed on the table as he studied a particularly interesting knot in the wood work, and waited for Frank to say something.

Finally after a few minutes, Frank cleared his throat. "Chet…I'm sorry." He felt responsible for this because he had introduced the two.

The stout boy looked at him in surprise, obviously not expecting that, and Frank continued, "But he's wrong. You know that, right?"

"Well…" Chet started, watching his friend with an expression of slight embarrassment on his face, but then he sighed and sat back in his chair, "yeah, I do. I'll admit I did let him get to me, but you set me straight about that. I guess…it's just….Well, I'm kind of a bit jealous of you and Joe—"

"What?" Frank cut him off, now truly stunned. _That_ he had never suspected. "Jealous of us, why?"

"Oh come on," Chet scoffed, as he looked intently at his friend, oblivious to the other two boys in the kitchen with them – this was between him and Frank. "Don't look so shocked. A lot of people are."

"Oh, yeah," Frank said sarcastically, as he looked at his watch and knew he needed to be going to meet Liam in a few minutes, "everyone is just dying to be Joe right now."

This made the other boys laugh, and Chet shook his head, the merry twinkle restored on his face. "I said I was a bit jealous of you guys….I never said I wanted to _be_ you guys!"

"True," Frank admitted, pleased to feel the mood lighten up somewhat, "but while I do think it's normal to be envious of different people for different things, don't let it try and sway you into thinking your own self-worth is any less."

"Wow, Zen-Frank strikes again," Biff piped up.

Ignoring him, Frank grabbed his house keys but then stopped and turned to Chet, an idea slowly forming in the back of his mind…an idea that might help explain the unexpected change in Mr. Rosado.

"Chet," he said as he turned to look at his friend, "Did you see what was in those pictures?"

At first the other boy looked like he didn't know what Frank was talking about, but then he got an unsettled look on his face as he said slowly, "Actually Frank…that's the strangest thing. I only saw the pictures for a few moments but they seemed to be all of the same thing."

"What?" the young sleuth pressed, his curiosity more than aroused by the odd look on his friend's face.

"Eyes. Just someone's eyes."

"Yuck!" Came Phil's immediate response, as he envisioned something a little less than pleasant, and Chet rushed to correct him.

"Not like that! Face shots, but only of that part of the face – extreme close-ups of _eyes_." Chet looked at Frank, whose turn it was to wear an odd look on his face. "Frank, no offence, but your old friend is creepy…very, very creepy."

_Mr. Rosado is creepy…. _

…_the way he kept looking at me gave me the chills…._

Frank heard Joe's voice again as if he was in the same room with him, and it sent a shiver tingling down his spine. Looking at his friends he just said, "That's what Joe said too. He called him 'creepy'."

As he thought about Mr. Rosado's reactions when he first met Joe and then his brother's disconcerting reaction to the old man's attention, Frank frowned. A troubling suspicion was forming in the back of his mind….

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Joe was focused on one thing and one thing only – getting to the Mortons' farm. It was what kept him going as he put all his single-minded energy into that one task. He had to get to Chet's.

Every step was a struggle, but he refused to give up. His dogged mind pushed his body, forcing it to keep going…step after stubborn step.

A couple of miles didn't sound too bad – he ran further than that on a good morning - but with a twisted ankle and weakening, it might as well have been a hundred miles!

Biting back a cry as he stumbled and almost blacked out from the accompanying pain, Joe gasped, "Gotta get to farm…can't stop…"

He no longer even remembered why he was moving; only that he had to get to Chet's…_gotta get to farm…gotta get to farm_….

...

Muir waited. He watched the edge of the woods, where the trees stopped and the fields began. Joe would have to come out here and cross the field to get to the house.

It was dark and he'd have to keep a sharp eye or he'd never see the teen; particularly as the shirt Joe was wearing tonight, while frilly, was a ruby red. It wouldn't stand out in the gloom.

_A fitting color_, he mused, _what better color to die in, then red?_

He knew his employer would be disappointed that they had no pictures of his young guest, but he'd just have to console himself with what he did get.

And that brought a cruel smile to the giant's lips – he'd kill Joe, yes, but not before he got what they needed.

"He'll never _see_ what's coming", Muir whispered and then chuckled at his own sick joke; this was going to be a good night…

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

After saying good-bye to Phil and Chet, who were going home, Biff went with Frank to meet Liam and his friends. The other two boys wanted to go with them, but Frank was worried that if Liam's friends saw them, too, they might decide to split. He wanted them to talk to him, and figured they wouldn't if they felt ganged up on.

At eight o'clock on a Sunday night, Mr. Pizza's wasn't overly busy, so Tony was able to come over and sit with them for a while as they waited. Frank filled him in on what was going on, including Mr. Rosado's rudeness to Chet, and the Italian youth's face darkened, as he was very protective of his friends.

"That's ludicrous!" he scoffed. "Everyone knows, it's you and Joe who are the odd ducks in the group!"

Biff just about choked on the piece of pizza he was chewing, as Frank laughed and patted him on the back.

"Too true, Prito, too true."

And then the group sobered up as they saw Liam come into the restaurant followed by two other teens of about his age.

Frank recognized neither boy, and realized they must go to Bayport West, the other high school in the area.

Tony got up and went back to the kitchen as Liam saw Frank and Biff and came over to sit down with them. The other two guys followed closely, glancing around nervously as they did.

"Glad you could make it," Frank said as the three newcomers sat down and immediately grabbed a slice of pizza.

Liam shrugged casually. "Had nothing better to do."

Frank waited for introductions, but none came.

Instead, one of the teens gave a curt nod and then spoke: "Look, we don't want any trouble. We're sorry to hear about your brother – from what Lee tells us, he's decent, but we ain't got nothing to do with that."

"I'm not a cop…" Frank said, addressing the joy riders, "I only want to know if you might have seen something, anything, that could help me get my brother back. That's all. No trouble, I promise."

The two kids traded looks, contemplating what he said, and then the smaller one shrugged and took a second slice of pizza. "We didn't really see anything. Just the van…" He looked Frank straight in the eye and continued, "and a black limo pulling onto the road - an old black limo. But that's all. Nothing else."

Frank felt his heart leap into his throat. _A black limo!_

He heard Biff ask the boys if they were sure that was all, and after two vehement nods, he settled back in his seat next to Frank.

This was the first thing they'd had to go on since Joe disappeared, and Frank was elated, but he kept it under control and just nodded casually at the other kid, "Thanks."

And then he looked at Liam. "When I find Joe, I'll tell him he owes you."

Liam gave them a wry grin. "Just tell him we're even…he'll know what I mean."

"Thanks," both Biff and Frank echoed the sentiment and then got up to leave.

_An old black limo…_

They finally had a starting place…now Frank just hoped it wasn't too little…too late.

...

"So why do you think the kids didn't tell the police about the limo?" Biff asked Frank as they pulled away from Mr. Pizza's.

The dark-haired boy shrugged. "I don't know. Some people are just afraid of being witnesses so they keep their mouths shut."

"Yeah," Biff agreed, thinking that made sense, and they drove for a few minutes in silence until Frank closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the headrest and let out a heavy sigh.

"Well that narrows it down," Biff said, glancing at his friend. "I mean how many limos could there have been on the road at that hour on Saturday morning…in Bayport? We aren't exactly Hollywood!"

Frank opened his eyes and gave his friend a wry grin. "True. But that also presents a potentially bigger problem."

"Oh?" Biff wasn't following Frank's logic. But Frank had already had that same thought and moved past it.

"If they have money, that means they'll have the means to make it harder for us to find Joe…if he's even still in Bayport."

"Crap," Biff muttered, "I hadn't thought about that! Do you really think Joe's gone? That he's been taken somewhere else?"

Looking out the window, Frank didn't say anything. He had no idea…only a very strong desire to talk to his father.

He had to ask him a question.

**A/N - all cylinders are firing now! Go Frank!! But since there wasnt' much Joe in this chapter, I think I'll go ahead and post another...**


	14. Chapter 14

As promised. Enjoy :)

**The Collector**

**Chapter 14**

Laura Hardy smiled as she saw the familiar face of her husband waiting for her as she got off the plane. But her smile quickly faded, for she could tell just by the look on his face that something was wrong. Fenton could never keep anything from her. She knew him and read him too well.

_Comes with the territory of being married to the man for twenty years_, she mused as she threw her arms around him and gave him a big hug, sucking in the musky scent that was him. Whatever he was going to tell her could wait until she'd had a chance to greet him.

God, she had missed him.

Laura never asked anything as they got the luggage, put it in the trunk of the car and pulled away from the airport. Georgia Hooper had opted to stay in Arizona for another week to visit her sister, so Laura had flown back alone.

She was refreshed, de-stressed and thought she was ready for anything her husband was going to tell her.

But as his silence continued, her unease grew – _what wasn't he telling her?_

Finally she just asked, "Okay Fenton, what's wrong?"

And then he said three words and she knew she wasn't prepared.

"Joe's missing…again."

...

While other kids were preparing for their first day of school, her five-year-old son was recuperating after being rescued from an abusive couple who had kidnapped Joe while he and Frank played in a carnival Fun House….

And as Laura heard those three words, it brought back all the feelings and fears that had threatened to destroy her that weekend so many years ago.

"_Daddy! I can't find Joey!"…_ Laura sucked in a breath as she could hear her six-year-old's voice so plainly, even now.

White-faced she shook her head and whispered, "Oh dear God, no…not again."

Every time something happened to either of her sons, this one day would come back and pounce on her, forever mocking her ability to keep her children safe.

Turning to her husband, she begged for details.

Fenton gave what little he knew, and felt more and more a failure with every word. There was nothing to go on.

They rode the rest of the way in silence.

Fenton had barely parked the car in the driveway before Laura was out of it, in the house, up the stairs and into their room.

When she got there, she grabbed one of the pillows from the bed, buried her face into it, and screamed.

_Someone had taken her baby…._

_..._

Fenton heard the anguish and put his hand on the doorknob to go in. But then he stopped.

_She needs this time_, he rationalized and turned to walk away. Then he stopped again. _But __I__ need her…_and opening the door, he went into the room, wrapped his arms around his wife and held her. It brought him great comfort – _this was something he could do._

...

When Laura was cried out, she pressed her face into her husband's chest and just listened to the sound of his heart beating; so many emotions ran through her own, each one vying for its place.

Finally she sighed, looked up at her husband and spoke softly, her throat hoarse from tears. "This never gets any easier."

Fenton's chest hitched at the anguish he heard in her voice, and he stroked her silky blond hair – so much like Joe's - but so different. "Oh honey…it's not supposed to."

"Will we find him this time?" she asked, her pale blue eyes searching his dark ones, forcing the truth even if he sought otherwise to protect her.

And the truth surprised him.

"Yes."

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Chet Morton sighed as he climbed up the stairs to the veranda on his parents' old farm house. It was getting late, and he wondered how Frank and Biff made out with Liam's friends.

He certainly hoped they got something they could use, finally.

It was only Sunday night but if felt like a million years ago since he saw the tail end of his friend's van sticking out of Arbutus Lake. Shaking his head, he stopped on the veranda and looked back out into the night.

The air was crisp with just that right amount of chilliness to scream 'autumn.' There wasn't a cloud in the sky, so a zillion twinkling little lights looked down on him.

And he wondered where Joe was.

Chet had known Joe almost as long as he had known Frank, and at first he thought it was a nuisance having the younger boy trail around after them wherever they went (almost as much of a pain as a younger sister…_almost_), but Frank doted on his little brother. And within a very short time, Chet had come to see what a good kid Joe was and he'd become quite fond of him.

And that hadn't changed.

Sure, things had gotten awkward after Iola died, but in the end it served to bring him even closer to the younger boy…it was if he'd lost a sister but got a Joe.

Glancing up at the stars he whispered, "Hey little sis. Wherever you are, I hope you're keeping an eye on your Joey tonight….I just have a feeling he's going to need it."

He paused and brushed away the tear that seemed to always come with a thought of his sister. "And if you don't mind….It'd be kinda nice if we could get him back again…real soon." His voice trailed off, "We can't lose him too…" and turning away, he hurried into the house, letting his black lab, Lucky, out as he did.

The dog did his business and then slowly came up onto the veranda before turning and staring off into the distance. His ears pricked forward, and a low growl emanated from his chest – someone was out there.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

Joe tripped, fell and then rolled for a few feet before coming to rest, face down in a pile of leaves at the base of a small tree.

Groaning, he pushed himself up before sagging back down to the ground, the effort seeming too much.

"Gotta…farm…" he managed hoarsely, his mind seeing nothing else except that his body was exhausted and hurting.

Slowly, and with great effort, he managed to pull himself to his knees and then waited for his vision to clear. Everything seemed so dark now…and for a moment he wondered if he'd hit his head and gone blind.

But then his mind cleared enough for him to know it was just dark…and he was hungry.

Grasping the tree trunk, he forced himself back to his feet, a difficult task, as his ankle was refusing to bear much of his weight anymore. But he couldn't stop. He had to get to the farm.

Starting off once again, he wondered if someone kept moving it, because he didn't recall the farm being this far from Deathe House before…and he refused to believe he was lost.

That was not an option.

ooooooOOOOOOoooooo

"DAD! MOM!" Frank hollered as soon as he got in the front door. He could already hear Biff's car leaving the driveway as the muscular teen headed for home. It was getting late.

Glancing down at his watch, Frank knew his parents should have been back from the airport a while now, and was rewarded a moment later when he heard the door upstairs open and then his father's voice.

"Hold on Frank, we'll be right down."

When he finally did see his parents there was no doubt in his mind that his mother knew about Joe's disappearance. But to her credit, she still managed a smile and hugged her older son as soon as she saw him.

"I missed you something awful," she whispered as she squeezed him tightly. For a moment he didn't think she was going to let him go, but then she did.

"Me too," he smiled down into her distressed blue eyes. He added, "We'll find him, Mom."

Reaching up, Laura gently stroked Frank's face, heartened to hear the resolve in his voice, and she smiled, a genuine one this time. "I know you will, sweetie. But thanks for saying it."

Frank leaned down and gave her another quick hug before she excused herself to go to the kitchen and make some tea. She really needed something right now, and the chamomile was calling to her.

As soon as his mother was gone, Frank turned to his father. "Can we talk in your office?"

Nodding, Fenton led the way, his curiosity piqued, and he allowed himself a small hope that his older son had found out something in the last couple of hours, since they had last spoken.

Closing the door behind him, Frank turned around, faced his father and asked the question that had been on his mind since Liam's friend told him about the other vehicle.

"Dad, when Mr. Rosado was here on Saturday, what was he driving?"

Without batting an eyelash, Fenton answered simply, "An older style black limo."

_TBC - okay still not much Joe... but I'll post again in a couple of days! _For anyone curious, this chapter references an older story of mine called 'The Fun House'. It is a young Hardy's story about the first time Joe ever went missing.


	15. Chapter 15

**The Collector**

**Chapter 15**

Fenton listened with disbelief as Frank laid his suspicions out for him, and then waited for his father to tell him he was being paranoid.

"Dad, it might be nothing, but when Joe's missing, there's no such thing as being too careful."

Fenton sat down on the edge of his desk, his face furrowed in a frown as he digested everything Frank had just told him about Mr. Rosado: Chet, the limo and now, most disturbingly, what was in the pictures.

Finally he said, "Antoine is obsessed with beauty."

"What?" Frank was caught off guard by his father's seeming change of subject, and Fenton went on to explain, his face lost in thought.

"When Sam and I were just starting out, Antoine hired us to find a woman he had seen sitting in a little café. It seemed an odd request but we'd just opened the firm and needed the work – so we took the case." Frank watched his father carefully as Fenton continued, his face clouded over in memory. "She was so beautiful that she'd taken his breath away…

"Anyway, it turned out not to be too difficult at all, as she frequented that café every day. So we just found out who she was and introduced her to Antoine."

"Wow," Frank said before he asked, "What happened?"

"I don't know," his father admitted. "Shortly afterwards Antoine moved back overseas, and I hadn't seen him again until yesterday morning when he showed up at our door."

"That's interesting but what does that have to do with Joe?" Frank demanded after a moment.

"Nothing, maybe," Fenton admitted, getting up and going to one of his filing cabinets, "or everything. Like you reminded me, he sure was taken by your brother. Or to be more exact, by the color of your brother's eyes—"

And then Fenton stopped and turned to his son, a strange look on his face as he said, slowly, "Antoine's chauffeur had a bruise over his cheekbone… "

Frank swallowed hard, as his face paled. While he'd had his suspicions, he still hadn't expected his father to substantiate them. The teen had liked the old man and was horrified that he might somehow be involved in his brother's disappearance. "Dad—"

"I don't know, son," Fenton cut him off, his own feelings as conflicted; "However, I don't believe in these kind of coincidences. Let me call Sam. I want him to run a check on Allison Dawn – that was the girl Antoine hired us to find. I'm very curious to find out what happened to her."

The detective's face was grim as he finished, "And then we go pay my old friend a little visit. This isn't enough for Collig, but it's more than enough for me."

...

Finding the file he was looking for, Fenton laid it open on the desk, picked up the phone and started to dial Sam's number. The other investigator was still canvassing the neighborhood with the FBI and the police.

Frank glanced down at the picture in the front of the file, and gasped.

"Dad!" he said, as he picked up the picture for a closer look, the words catching in his throat, "Is this…is this Allison?"

Fenton started to say 'yes' but then he saw what Frank did, and he kicked himself for not remembering.

"Ohmygod", the investigator gasped, letting the phone drop down heavily as he reached and took the photo from his son.

They had found the connection – _Joe Hardy had Allison Dawn's eyes_….

* * *

Muir heard the kid coming before he saw him.

The night was deathly quiet; even the animals in the nearby barn had all settled down. So it was easy to pick out the labored breathing as Joe moved away from the woods and towards the field.

_Like taking candy from a baby_, the big man grinned, for in the bright moonlight, he could easily pick out the blond head of the teen as Joe limped from the cover of the trees.

Quietly, Muir made his move; the kid would never know what hit him.

...

Joe paused to catch his breath before moving again.

He could see the old farmhouse now, and he felt immeasurable relief just from seeing its lighted windows, beckoning to him – he'd be safe there.

"Gotta…farm," he managed one more time, his lips and mouth too dry to manage anything else.

Forcing his body to continue, Joe left the cover of the woods and started across the field.

* * *

Chet sat down at the kitchen table and stared at his algebra books. Not the most mathematically inclined at the best of times, he found it an impossible task tonight, as his mind warred between worry for his friend and anger at Mr. Rosado.

He knew he should just get past it, and he was reassured by Frank that the old man was wrong, however that didn't change how much it still stung.

"Chet, son, are you okay?" John Morton asked as he came into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee and saw the perplexed look on his son's face.

The boy looked up at his father and gave him a weak smile. "That depends. Can anyone with this much homework truly be okay?"

The older Morton gave a little chuckle and then sat down across from his son. Reaching over, he gave his hand a supportive pat. "It'll all work out, you'll see."

Without saying anything, he got up to leave the table, pausing only at the threshold of the living room. "Where's Lucky?" John had thought the dog had been in the kitchen with Chet, and was surprised not to see the animal sprawled out on the floor.

"He went out when I came in," Chet said, and then pushed himself away from the table. "I guess I'd better let him back in."

"Good idea," his father agreed, "who knows what kind of trouble that pup'll get into on a night like this."

"Aw Dad," Chet laughed, crossing the floor and opening the front door. "Wishful thinking on your part. This is the Morton farm, _not_ the Hardy house!"

* * *

Muir was right. Joe never knew what hit him.

Joe was concentrating so hard on just keeping moving that he never saw the big man until he grabbed him from behind.

As he struggled, Muir whispered in his ear, "I'm going to enjoy this."

...

Lucky began barking just as Chet opened the screen door.

"Hey boy—" Chet's voice broke off as the dog growled and took off down the steps and towards the field.

"Dad!" the boy called back into the house, "Something's got Lucky spooked!"

John Morton started towards the door, intending on following his son, but then he paused and ran back to the living room. If something was out in his fields at this time of night, it probably wasn't selling Girl Scout cookies!

He wanted to be prepared.

Grabbing his 12-gauge shotgun from above the mantel, the farmer quickly loaded it and then took off out of the house and after the form of his retreating son.

Somewhere ahead of him, he could hear the ruckus….

...

Muir easily pinned Joe to the ground beneath him.

One hard slap across the back of his head stunned the boy enough for him to pull out his handcuff key. Deftly he unlocked the dangling left cuff and forced Joe's wrist back into it. Then he roughly rolled him onto his back, trapping the teen's hands beneath him.

Straddling his chest, Muir smiled down at the open fear he saw on Joe's face. But that was nothing compared to the look he saw there seconds later when he pulled out a small scalpel and grabbed Joe's chin.

Placing the scalpel just below the boy's eye, he sneered, "My, what an interesting shade of blue your eyes are tonight….Antoine has no idea what he's missing…"

...

Lucky charged across the field.

Muir never knew the dog was coming.

...

Chet's heart was pounding. Ahead of him, he could just make out some sort of struggle going, on and saw his dog headed right towards it!

Terrified for Lucky's safety, the boy yelled out, "LUCKY! NOOOO!"

But the dog ignored him.

...

Joe closed his eyes…and then he heard a savage growl….

Muir never knew what hit him, as Lucky struck, knocking him off Joe and grabbing the arm that held the weapon. Furious, the big man tried to shake the dog off, but the retriever held fast.

...

Chet stopped in shock, hardly daring to believe his eyes. Lucky had attacked someone! No…Lucky was _still_ attacking someone.

So focused was he on the dog, that it took Chet a moment longer to see the boy who was still lying on the ground just a few feet away from him.

It was Joe!

...

Muir pulled back his fist and bashed the dog on the nose.

Responding to the pain, Lucky whimpered and let go, retreating behind his master. Satisfied that the animal had been dealt with for now, Muir spun around to finish with Joe – enough was enough.

But he stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a man's voice and saw the barrel of the shotgun pointed at his chest. "Whoa there, big fella. Nice and easy…and maybe I won't shoot you."

John Morton had arrived just as Lucky released the stranger, and took in the scene immediately, wasting no time in ending this, now.

"Back away from the boy," the farmer said as he stared the huge man down. Many people would have been very surprised to see the senior Morton as he was right now. Very few knew that behind his soft exterior, beat the heart of a lion…a lion with nerves of steel.

John didn't want to shoot this man, but he would without any hesitation if he had to.

When it looked like Muir wasn't going to listen, John cocked the hammer back and growled, "Don't make me ask twice."

He already knew the boy was Joe, but didn't spare a glance to see how he was, in case the stranger used the distraction. Instead, once Muir stepped back, John said curtly, "Chet, check Joe."

...

When Joe heard Mr. Morton's voice, he let out a relieved sigh. He was safe….

Seconds later, he felt someone gently shaking him and calling his name. Opening his eyes, he managed a weak smile for his brother's best friend.

"Hey Chet," Joe whispered.

"Hey Joe," Chet managed, his eyes blurring with the emotion of seeing the younger boy. He had no idea how Joe got here, but he was awfully glad to see him.

And then everything happened too fast.

There was a blur of movement as Muir made one more desperate lunge at the boys, and John squeezed the trigger….

The last thing Joe saw, before passing out, was Muir…going down.

TBC -


	16. Chapter 16

**The Collector**

**Chapter 16**

"Dad!" Chet's voice was loud in the quiet after the echoing of the gunshot. He couldn't believe his father had just shot someone.

"Stay with Joe!" John ordered as he approached the fallen man.

Muir was big, well over 6'5", and he didn't trust that even the 12-gauge would be enough. He didn't want to kill him; however, he did want to make sure he wasn't going to be a threat.

Muir rolled over and looked up at him; his dark eyes simmered with rage as he held one of his arms with the other hand.

"Don't so much as breathe the wrong way," the senior Morton warned as he kept the gun pointed at him. "Be grateful I changed my mind. I _was_ aiming for your chest."

Behind them, he could hear Chet trying to rouse Joe, and hoped the younger boy wasn't seriously injured.

"Joe? Come on buddy, open you eyes, _please_!" Chet begged, as he couldn't tell how badly he was hurt…or where. Gently he shook his friend, and after a long moment, Joe stirred.

With a groan and a lot of effort, he managed to open his eyes, and saw his friend peering down worriedly at him. But once Chet saw Joe looking back at him, the worry melted into relief and he grinned down at his friend.

"Man, you scared the crap out of me!" he admitted, and then asked, "Are you okay? Where's it hurt?"

Joe forced himself to concentrate on his friend, but it was difficult as he was exhausted and his leg was killing him. Slowly and with great effort, he managed, "Ankle…hurts…this…" He pointed to his leg.

"Okay, okay," Chet soothed, "Let me take a look at it." Gently, he reached down to pull up the end of the pant leg and was surprised to see Joe wearing boots. Long boots that reached to just beneath his knee.

And that was the first time he really noticed exactly what else his friend _was_ wearing – a red, frilly blouse, and black pants that didn't leave much to the imagination.

"Oh Joe," he whispered sympathetically, wondering just what else his friend had been subjected to in the last 36 hours, other than these clothes.

Joe didn't say anything, but he moaned and lurched up slightly when Chet carefully removed the boot so he could see the ankle. Upon immediate inspection he didn't like what he saw…it was badly swollen and bruised.

"Dad," Chet called over his shoulder to his father, when Joe struggled to sit up and he realized his friend's hands were handcuffed behind him, "Does that creep have a key on him somewhere? Joe's cuffed."

Muir raised his eyebrows as the farmer fixed him with a look and asked, "Where's the key?"

"I ate it," the big man said and then smiled, "I can get it for you, if you don't mind the wait."

"Look, big guy," John said, his tone leaving no room to think he was bluffing, "You, I don't know….Him," he indicated Joe, "I care about. If I gotta kill you, to get those damn things off him, I will. Your choice."

John cocked the hammer again when Muir didn't move, and then the giant shrugged, and moving slowly he pulled the key out of his pocket.

"Now was that so hard?" Mr. Morton asked. "Toss it to me, nice and gentle-like. You don't want me to get startled, my finger might slip or something."

"You're enjoying this," Muir commented, even as he did what the other man said.

John snorted. "Yeah, this is my idea of fun. Can you tell?" And then he addressed his son: "Chet, the keys are at my feet. Release Joe and then bring the cuffs here."

A soft groan a few moments later, told him Chet had taken the handcuffs off his friend. Coming to stand beside his father, he held up the cuffs. "What do you want me to do with them?"

John aimed the gun directly at Muir's head. He spoke to the stranger. "Stand up." Muir did, with considerable agility considering he'd been shot.

Satisfied, the farmer continued, "My son is going to put these cuffs on you. Slightest wrong move and you're dead." The barrel was shifted to accommodate the giant's change of position.

Muir shrugged and held his arms out towards Chet, compliantly.

Chet nervously approached the other man, awed by his size, and understanding how hard it must have been for Joe to get past this guy. Quickly, he put the cuff on the first wrist but when he moved to fasten it, Muir moved….

* * *

Joe sat on the ground and slowly massaged his aching wrists. He grimaced as he saw how torn up his right one was.

He heard John's instruction to Muir and realized what he was going to do, and his heart lurched. Chet would be too close….

The boy tried to struggle to his feet, even as he yelled, "NOOO!"

* * *

Neither John nor Chet were prepared for how fast this man was. But before John could even get off a shot, Muir had grabbed Chet, spun him around and had the scalpel to his neck.

Lucky growled and John snapped, "Down, Lucky!" The dog continued growling but backed off.

Muir glared at the farmer. "Put your gun down or the boy dies."

John was torn; if he did so, then they'd be at the full mercy of this maniac, but if he didn't….

"NOW!" barked Muir as he pressed the blade in just enough to nick Chet, who gasped but didn't cry out. His father's eyes widened as he saw the blood.

Out of the corner of his eye John saw Joe trying to struggle to his feet and said softly but firmly, "Stay down." He didn't want this to get any more precarious than it already was, as he slowly began lowering the gun to the ground.

"Good," Muir said, easing up the pressure of the scalpel on Chet's throat just a bit. His eyes flickered towards Joe. "Him for your son. We leave…you and your boy get to grow old together."

"No," John said immediately. He couldn't make that trade.

"Mr. Morton—" came a weak protest, but he repeated.

"No."

The farmer locked eyes with the giant and moments became minutes.

They both knew that Muir was losing blood – if this stalemate continued, the big man would lose….

Without any warning, Muir suddenly thrust Chet towards his father, turned and raced into the cover of the woods.

John caught his son before he could fall, and held him tightly, assuring himself that Chet was indeed all right and out of the clutches of that man.

Releasing him, he bent down to pick up the gun.

Swearing softly under his breath as he realized Muir had escaped, the farmer turned back and saw Chet kneeling down next to his friend again.

"Okay," said the farmer as he smiled warmly at Joe, "let's get you back to the house so we can get a better look at that ankle."

Together Chet and his father helped the younger teen the rest of the way to the farmhouse.

...

As they settled him down on the couch, Joe caught Chet's arm and whispered, "F-Frank…gotta…call…F-Frank."

Chet smiled, squeezed his arm reassuringly and nodded. "No problem, Joe, I'll get the phone…and you can say hello yourself…."

* * *

Joe smiled, leaned back and closed his eyes as he waited for Chet to dial the phone and hand it to him. His smile only faltered briefly when he realized that Muir had gotten away.

He really needed to talk to his Dad.

* * *

Frank was just following his father out of the house when his cell rang. Recognizing the number he answered, "Hey Morton, what's up?"

_'Frank there's someone here who wants to talk to you.'_

The dark-haired boy detected something in his friend's voice, and he stopped as he heard the phone being passed over to someone.

'_H-hey…big…b-brother…'_

The voice was weak and halting but it was one Frank would know anywhere.

Staggering from sudden lightheadedness, immense relief warred with intense disbelief…._It couldn't be_…but it was -

It was Joe.

"Frank? Are you okay?" Fenton asked, his concern growing as he saw the boy's face pale, and he reached out a hand to steady him.

The teen ignored him though, as he just pressed the phone so hard against his ear, it had to have hurt and he said…his voice hoarse with emotion, "_Joe_?"

But it was Chet's voice that came back on the line.

_'Frank, that was Joe. He's at my house—'_

Cutting Chet off, Frank was looking at his father, his eyes bright. "Keep him there, Chet! We're on our way!"

Hanging up, the teen's voice wavered as he started laughing, his relief at hearing his brother's voice so overwhelming. "Joe's at Chet's!"

"Oh thank God," Fenton muttered in relief. Sagging back a bit, and then straightening up again, he barked, "Get your mother, I'll call Ezra!"

As Frank still stood there shaking his head with a stunned look on his face, Fenton pressed, "Frank, GO!"

And then the boy was moving.

* * *

Fenton shook his own head and gave a little chuckle, as he knew exactly how Frank was feeling. You hope for something like this but you don't expect for it to really happen.

_Somehow_ Joe had gotten to the Mortons' farm.

Fenton didn't know how, but right now he didn't really care. He had one thing on his mind and one thing only…seeing his son.

To be continued...


	17. Chapter 17

**The Collector**

**Chapter 17**

Cursing under his breath, Muir checked his arm. He'd been incredibly lucky with the bullet only grazing him. He suspected that the farmer had done that on purpose; the man's hands were too steady on the gun to have missed.

"Stupid fool," he muttered as he pulled out his cell phone, "Shoulda killed me when he had the chance."

Muir had stopped once he'd made the cover of the trees and saw the farmer and his son were more intent on helping Joe than catching him right now.

As he waited for Antoine to answer, he watched their progress as they crossed the field and went into the house.

Three rings later he heard his employer's calm, cultured voice:

Yes?

"We have a problem," Muir said curtly, and gave him an abridged version of what happened. He heard the old man sigh in disappointment before saying anything.

Tie up the loose ends, Muir….You know how much I hate a mess.

And then he was gone.

Antoine hung up the phone and looked down, affectionately, at the large dog lying at his feet.

"Ah Ajax," he said, "We're going to have guests."

* * *

Fenton pushed the boundary on the speed limit as they hurried towards the Mortons' farm. Beside him, Laura peered intently out the window, her heart refusing to give in to relief until she saw her baby with her own eyes….

In the back seat, Frank had his head leaned back, his eyes closed, and a gentle smile played across his face; serenity erased the worry that had lived there. His brother was safe….

_Way to go, kiddo_, he thought, proudly. He wasn't sure yet how Joe had gotten to Chet's place, but there was no doubt in his mind that he had somehow foiled his kidnappers.

_They had no idea who they were dealing with, little brother, did they?_

* * *

Muir heard the dog barking before he got very close to the house.

_Damn animal_, he thought, _if Ajax was here_….But then he smirked – this could be used to his advantage.

* * *

Catherine Morton smiled down at the sleeping youth. After Joe had spoken those few brief words to Frank, he'd collapsed into a heavy sleep.

"Poor thing," she said, taking a warm cloth and gently wiping away the dirt and grime his desperate flight had marred him with, "He's plumb tuckered out."

Chet nodded, but didn't say anything as he carefully wrapped Joe's ankle in a tensor bandage. It would offer some support until it could be x-rayed.

Like Joe, he didn't think it was broken, but it was definitely sprained, and probably badly, judging by the amount of bruising and swelling.

John Morton was in the kitchen reporting the incident to the police. He declined an ambulance for Joe, knowing the teen would rather have his family take him since none of his injuries appeared life-threatening.

He was just hanging up when Lucky started to growl and walk stiff-legged towards the front door. Then, as all the hair rose up on his shoulders, he started to bark.

"Dad?" Chet called from the living room as he stood up, "Is something wrong?"

Reaching for his rifle, the farmer called over his shoulder, "Stay here with your Mom and Joe." _He'd shot the big man, but was it possible he'd still come back?_

Not willing to take the chance, John opened the front door and stepped out on the veranda; the black dog streaked past him, barking as he did so.

"LUCKY!" John bellowed, instinctively going after the dog. If it was Joe's attacker, he could seriously injure or kill the animal.

* * *

Muir was waiting outside the door.

John never knew what hit him.

* * *

Chet heard the dog suddenly give a painful yelp and then silence.

He traded looks with his mother – something was wrong.

* * *

The dog lunged at the big man, but he was expecting it and caught the animal in the side with a powerful kick. Yelping, Lucky hit the veranda hard and then backed away.

Still growling softly, the dog stood protectively beside his unconscious master but made no more attempts to go after Muir.

"Stay here," Chet said to his mother, "I'll be right back."

...

Muir picked up the rifle and had it pointed towards the front door when Chet walked out.

He smiled at the boy and put his fingers on his lips, indicating for him not to make any noise.

Chet's heart hammered loudly as he saw his father prone on the veranda with a cowering, but still growling, Lucky at his side.

"My business is not with your family," Muir said in the monotone voice Joe had come to fear, "but I will make it so…depending on you."

Swallowing hard, Chet said, "W-why don't you just leave us alone?"

"I can't." The big man sounded almost apologetic. "You have something that belongs to me…my employer, actually. Once I get it back, you'll never see me again."

"Or him," Chet said, realizing that Muir was talking about Joe.

The big man shrugged nonchalantly. "Or him."

Then he indicated with the barrel towards the house. "Inside."

Having no recourse but to do what he said, Chet slowly turned around and went back into the kitchen. He wanted to shout a warning, but knew this man wouldn't hesitate to shoot him if he tried to. And being dead wasn't going to help anyone.

* * *

Catherine Morton had just come into the kitchen to get some more warm water to finish cleaning Joe up a bit, when she heard her son's voice, and it chilled her. She knew exactly who he was talking to.

* * *

Chet was surprised when they got to the living room and he didn't see his mom. Only Joe was there…still passed out on the couch.

* * *

John opened his eyes and groaned. _Damn, his head hurt_.

Slowly he pulled himself up onto his hands and knees, as he blinked to clear his vision…and then he remembered what happened!

* * *

Catherine was hidden behind the door to the living room. She watched the biggest man she'd ever seen prod her son past her hiding spot and towards Joe.

She had to do something….

* * *

"Wakey, wakey, Joseph," Muir said as he poked Joe's side with the barrel of the gun. To the side, Chet tensed, waiting for a chance to make a move. This guy was huge but he couldn't just stand by and let him take Joe, or worse.

Joe's eyes flew open as he saw the giant standing over him!

Muir cocked the hammer and pointed the gun at the blond boy.

"Play time's over", he said.…

He squeezed the trigger…and fired!

* * *

Fenton's car tore up the gravel driveway as it pulled off the road and sped towards the farmhouse.

Frank was out of the car before it was even in Park. And as his feet hit the first step, he heard a woman scream, "NOOOO!"

* * *

Catherine Morton burst out of her hiding spot and screamed just as Muir pulled the trigger – she wasn't close enough to stop him…and she knew it!

But Chet was!

Realizing what Muir was intending to do, the stout boy was already throwing himself at the giant even as his mother screamed. He hit Muir's injured arm, and the gun went off, missing Joe but taking out the arm on the couch!

Angrily, Muir shoved Chet away, but that was all the time the other boy needed! Fresh adrenaline pumping through his body, Joe ignored the pain as he dove from the couch and grabbed the barrel of the gun, forcing it up towards the ceiling.

"GET HELP!" Chet shouted to his mother as she stood there, transfixed, watching as her son and his friend tried to wrestle with the stranger.

Chet's voice broke her shock and she hurried to the phone just as her husband staggered past her.

* * *

Still somewhat shaky, John knew he had to get back in the house, and he did so, just as the gun went off.

Terrified of what he'd find in the living room, he let out a relieved sigh when he saw his wife going for the phone, while Chet and Joe were wrestling with Muir! Immediately he started towards them….

* * *

Joe had a grip on the barrel, and then both he and the gun fell back, as Muir suddenly just let go and then turned towards Chet.

The stout kid was a bigger threat to the giant right now, as he already knew Joe was too weak to put up much of a fight, so he let go of the gun and turned around, his fist raised to deliver a paralyzing blow.

"FREEZE!" Fenton Hardy's voice boomed through the living room as the investigator stood in the doorway, his own weapon drawn and aimed right at Muir.

The giant slowly released Chet and turned to face the detective.

Frank stood beside his father, his chest heaving in anger. His eyes dark as he glared at the big man.

Muir smiled; "No loose ends," and he made one more lunge at Joe….

Without hesitating, Fenton pulled the trigger. And this time when the giant fell, he never got back up.

tbc


	18. Chapter 18

**

* * *

**

Thank you to my wonderful reviewers! Only a couple of chapters left now - and here it is, folks, the reunion scene. I hope you like.

**The Collector**

**Chapter 18**

For a moment, no one moved, and then Fenton asked, "Is everyone all right?"

Catherine Morton nodded, unable to find her voice as John moved towards his wife and enveloped her in a comforting embrace.

"Shhh, it's okay, honey," he murmured, "it's all over now."

"Yeah," Chet managed, his eyes transfixed on the growing pool of red beneath the giant.

"N-not…everyone," came a quiet voice, and all eyes turned on the blond haired boy, still sitting on the floor with his back pressed up against the couch, inches from the outstretched hand of the fallen man.

Joe was also staring at the body, his eyes wide and disbelieving. His voice shook slightly as he tried to draw back from Muir; not trusting that even in death the big man couldn't somehow make a move.

_Lunch is in ten minutes…._

And then Frank was moving across the room, towards his brother, and smiled.

Looking up at him wearily, Joe offered his own rendition – not quite as cheerful - and sighed, his voice hoarse and quiet, "You have no idea…how happy I am…to see you."

Crouching down beside him, Frank gave his brother a gentle hug and whispered, "You okay?"

"I…am …now." Joe closed his eyes as he felt his brother's protective embrace. No one could hurt him now.

* * *

Antoine heard the sirens. Getting up, he moved slowly towards his private room, stopping now and then and shaking his head.

He had never made a mistake…until now.

"Damn boy," he muttered to the dog that followed placidly at his heels. "Damn Fenton's boy to hell."

* * *

"Oh baby," Laura said, as Frank finally pulled away from his brother and let their mother fuss over him for a while, as he went to stand by his father. Fenton was talking to Chet and John Morton in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.

They could hear sirens, and knew the police would be there within minutes.

Frank listened quietly as he heard the farmer tell what had happened and how they had found Joe. Glancing back at Muir, he felt relief that the dead man wouldn't be able to go after Joe anymore…or anyone else, for that matter.

* * *

Lucky, none the worse for wear from his experience, was lying down in front of the stove watching everything through soulful brown eyes. His tail thumped loudly on the floor when he heard his name and saw everyone look at him.

He had no way of knowing how very proud the Mortons were of him, and how very thankful the Hardys were for him – he was a very good dog.

But when Catherine opened up an extra can of dog food, and plopped it in his dish as a 'thank-you,' the always ravenous animal decided that just maybe this hadn't been such a bad night after all!

* * *

"Oh sweetie," Laura said, stroking the side of Joe's face as she held him. Joe still had his eyes closed, his body relaxing under his mother's caress. "What a horrible man!" She glanced down at Muir's still body and gave a shudder. "At least he'll never be able to hurt you again."

That reminded Joe of something importan.t Gently pulling away from his mother, his eyes opened, sought out his father, and he tried to get his attention.

"Dad." At first, Fenton didn't hear him, but when he called out again, "Dad!" he did.

Turning, he saw his son looking intently at him, and his face broke out in a wide grin as he excused himself from the Mortons and hurried over to talk to him.

So far, Fenton hadn't been able to talk to Joe.

Giving Joe a soft kiss on the top of his head, Laura got up and went into the kitchen to help Catherine. The farmer's wife was making tea and coffee in anticipation of a long night.

...

"Son," Fenton rasped as he finally got a chance to give the boy a hug and make sure he was okay.

He saw the bandaged ankle and took in the pale, drawn face that was looking at him, and decided they needed to get Joe looked after and back home, as soon as possible.

It was very apparent that his son was exhausted, and Fenton couldn't even imagine what he'd had been through during all this! He did frown as he took in the odd clothes….

Joe let his father embrace him and then he pulled away. Although he wanted the comfort, he had something more pressing that needed to be taken care of first – he couldn't let the old man get away!

"Dad…" Joe started, and then looked down and sighed. He was finding it difficult to look at his father, knowing what he was about to tell him. Fenton was very fond of Mr. Rosado….

Fenton was troubled when his son refused to hold his gaze. Placing his fingers under his chin, he gently forced Joe to look at him. "Joe? What is it, son?"

Joe still hesitated; this was harder than he thought, as he saw the concern in his father's dark brown eyes…so much like Frank's….

And then Frank was standing behind their father, offering his support by just being there.

Swallowing hard, Joe whispered, "Muir…" he indicated the fallen giant, with a quick glance, before looking straight in his father's eyes and saying, "Muir works for Mr. Rosado."

...

Fenton felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Although both he and Frank had had their suspicions, it was still nothing like hearing it from his own son's mouth.

And taking in the haunted, haggard appearance of his seventeen-year-old, the detective felt an angry fire ignite inside him. _Betrayal_.

Antoine Rosado had come to his house…as his friend! And then, not only had he stolen Fenton's child but had offered to help find him!!

Blinking back his growing rage, the detective closed his eyes and counted to ten. When he opened them he looked down at his younger son, cupped his face in his hand and said softly, "I'm so sorry, Joe."

He blamed himself for this. It was he that had proudly introduced his sons to the old man only yesterday morning….What the hell had happened?

Vibrant blue eyes blinked up at him in confusion, and Fenton gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze as he heard the familiar voice of Ezra Collig in the kitchen. "I need to talk to Ezra. And then we'll take you to the hospital and get checked out—"

The boy cut him off. "No Dad, _please_. You have to catch Mr. Rosado, now - before he can get away!" Panic tinged his voice as he continued, "You don't understand, he's crazy! I mean certifiable! You have to stop him, Dad!"

"Joe—" Fenton tried to calm down his increasingly agitated son, but the teen was having nothing to do with it, cutting him off instead, and his words cut the detective to the quick.

"Please Dad…please don't let him get away..."

As he saw his son blink back tears, Fenton put his finger on his lips, stopping him.

"Okay Joe, okay. Shhh…" he consoled, relieved when he saw Frank sit down next to his brother and slip his arm around his shoulders. "You just stay here and relax. We'll go get Antoine and then we'll take you home." He left out 'via the hospital' because he didn't want to agitate the teen any further.

Joe held his gaze and the intensity seared right though Fenton. "Promise?"

"I promise," the investigator vowed, "He will not escape."

Standing up, he looked at Frank. "Stay with your brother," and then turned on his heel and headed into the kitchen before his older son could argue with him.

He doubted it would be a strong argument anyway, because as much as Frank would like to be there when they arrested Mr. Rosado, he'd want to stay with his brother even more.

Grim-faced, Fenton spoke to the police chief, and within minutes they were ready to leave.

As they were leaving the sleuth glanced back over his shoulder at the living room, and breathed a sigh of relief as he saw his family sitting there, together, on the end of the damaged couch…Laura, Frank and Joe.

_Rosado would not hurt them anymore._ Fenton would make sure of that.

And then the coroner zippered shut the body bag and the giant left the building….

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

**The Collector**

**Chapter 19**

"Can I have a drink?" Joe asked as soon as his father had left. He was lying down on the couch again, this time facing the other direction with his foot propped up. His brother and mother were sitting beside him and even though he had once again closed his eyes, he knew they were watching him.

"Sure kiddo," he heard his brother say, and then felt the movement as Frank got off the couch.

"He shot the couch," Chet said shaking his head. "I can't believe it, that crazy guy shot the couch!"

Joe opened his eyes and glanced at his friend.

Chet saw him looking at him and grinned sheepishly. "Don't get me wrong! I mean, I'm glad it _was_ the couch…but still, he shot the couch."

Frank came back with a cold glass of water and passed it to his brother when Joe lifted himself up on his elbows and took the glass. He spoke to Chet. "Your parents are giving their statements to Officer Bartlett."

Wordlessly, the stout boy left the living room to be with his parents. He knew his mom, in particular was going to be upset when she had to recount the terrible fright she'd gotten when that monster had invaded her house.

"Whoa honey, not so fast!" Frank turned back to look at his brother as he heard his mother cautioning him, as Joe, just now realizing how thirsty he was, started to gulp it back.

And then as the cold water hit his painfully empty stomach, Joe doubled over in a severe stomach cramp. He groaned and sucked in a breath, trying to will the pain away.

"That's it," their mother said, taking charge, "We're taking you to the hospital to get checked out!"

"Mom—" Joe protested weakly, but she cut him off.

"I don't want to hear it young man!" Laura looked at her older son, daring him to take his brother's side, but Frank just shrugged. He recognized that look in his mother's eyes and knew better than to stand between mamma bear and her cub….regardless of the look the cub was throwing him.

"I agree." Frank said, "I'll borrow Chet's if Dad took his car."

Satisfied, Laura turned back to her younger son, who was trying to breathe through another painful stomach cramp. This time when she spoke, her voice was soft and tender. "And then afterwards, we'll take you home."

Joe managed a weak smile. "Thank you, Mom." And then took the hand his brother was offering, to get off the couch.

In all honesty, he felt more miserable than he liked to admit.

* * *

Fenton hung up the cell phone and turned to Ezra, who was driving.

"That was Frank. They're taking Joe to the hospital."

The chief shot him a quick look. "Is he okay?"

"I think so." Fenton said, willing this to hurry and be over with so he could get back to his family. "He didn't give any specifics, just that his mother got tired of Joe's groaning."

Ezra smiled – he actually could imagine it. Most people had no idea what a force of nature Laura Hardy could be with the right incentive. And if anything was incentive, it was named Frank and Joe.

"Radley's going to meet us there," Fenton said after a few quiet moments.

"Good," Ezra said. He didn't think they really needed the extra manpower, as they were being followed by a patrol for backup, but he understood how important it was to Fenton to have Sam there.

Antoine Rosado had been their client; no…more then _a _client. He had been their _first_ client. Now they needed to see this to its resolution.

That man had stolen two very precious things from Fenton: his son…and his trust. And now they were going to let him know that some things are priceless….

Fenton was surprised when he saw Deathe House. He hadn't been by the old manor in a long time, and he was impressed to see that it had been restored to its previous splendor; one more testimony to the wealth that surrounded Antoine. The whole house seemed to glow, as if every light had been turned on.

"Do you think he's expecting us?" Ezra found himself whispering as he stood next to Fenton and looked up at the mammoth house.

Fenton shook his head. He really had no idea. Up until a short while ago, he thought he had a good handle on the eccentric old man… now he wasn't so sure about anything.

Officer Con Riley pulled up behind them, followed by Sam Radley.

"Fenton!" The detective turned when he heard his name being called, and could tell immediately by his friend's flushed face that he had something to tell him.

"Sam?" he asked, "What's up?"

"Well it turned out, Allison Dawn wasn't too hard at all to find," the other investigator said as he got within talking distance. "She's dead."

"What?" Fenton asked.

"Who's Allison Dawn?" Ezra demanded, wondering if Fenton was working another case besides his own son's kidnapping.

"Allison was the girl Antoine hired us to find," Sam abridged before addressing Fenton again. "Apparently she disappeared two days before Rosado went back to Europe. But her body was discovered floating in the harbor, one week after her disappearance."

"Rosado?" Fenton speculated, and Sam shrugged.

"Don't know, but if so, then he's been bizarre for a long time, Fenton."

The hair on the back of the investigator's neck stood up, even before Sam continued.

"Her body had been literally ripped to shreds and…" Sam paused, not noticing how the police chief had suddenly stiffened, and then he finished, "and he took a trophy."

"A trophy?" Fenton echoed, his heart thumping heavily in his chest, "What?"

It was Chief Collig who answered. "Her eyes. He took her eyes."

* * *

Antoine knew they were there. And he waited.

* * *

… _your son has the most exquisitely colored eyes I've ever seen…._

… _I don't recall her eyes being so…well for lack of a better word – blue…._

"Oh God," Fenton felt like his legs were going to give out as he stared, horrified at the other men. "He wanted Joe's eyes…."

"Easy, Fenton." Sam's steadying hand gripped his shoulder tightly. "Joe's safe. And we don't even know that for sure yet." He turned to Ezra. "How'd you know?"

"Because…" the police chief cleared his throat, "because I've got a Jane Doe in my morgue that could fit that description of your Allison Dawn."

"Oh crap," Officer Riley hissed, "he's serial."

Regaining his composure, Fenton squared his shoulders, took out his gun and then nodded at the others. "Well boys, this cereal has passed its expiration date. I think it's time we took it off the shelf!"

If anyone thought what he said was corny, no one commented on it. Instead they let the detective lead the way – this was personal.

"OPEN UP, ANTOINE! IT'S THE POLICE!" Con Riley shouted as Fenton banged on the door. They could hear the pounding resonating through the house as loud booms.

No one answered.

The detective tried the door and wasn't overly surprised to find it unlocked. Pushing it all the way open, he carefully stepped into the hallway, with Con and Sam right behind him – all three had their guns drawn.

"ANTOINE – SHOW YOURSELF!" Fenton shouted. "WE NEED TO TALK!"

As he called out, they made their way down the hallway, checking the rooms as they did. And like Joe, they found all the doors locked, except one.

Pushing open the door, Fenton stepped into a large library, illuminated by a roaring fire in the huge fireplace that occupied one full wall.

Seated in a velvet, high backed chair was Antoine Rosado, drinking tea from a china cup.

"Ah Fenton, Sam!" the old man greeted in delight, "I was wondering when you'd get around to dropping by." The large dog lying at his feet, looked at the men but did nothing.

"Antoine—" Fenton started, but Mr. Rosado cut him off.

"I trust you've found Joseph, then?"

Barely able to keep from lunging across the room and throttling this man who was behaving so nonchalantly, Fenton growled, "Yes, we did. And he's fine."

"I gathered as much," Antoine admitted looking a bit sad. "Or else you wouldn't be here." He paused and then asked, "Is Muir dead?"

"Yes," Fenton answered as he slowly came into the library, keeping his gun trained on the old man.

"Such a shame," Mr. Rosado sighed. "Good help is hard to find. However, that is neither here nor there. ,I can only apologize for the behavior of my employee….He was not as constrained as I had been led to believe."

"What are you talking about?" Ezra demanded, deciding right off that this guy was even creepier than he'd been expecting. Here they were, to arrest him for kidnapping, and possibly much more, and he was acting all civil, like they'd just dropped in for tea!

"This whole unfortunate affair. Muir acted inappropriately and without my consent. I'm so sorry Fenton; if I had known earlier I would have come to you but I only just found out myself tonight. " Antoine purred.

"What?" Fenton was dumbstruck – was the old man saying what he thought he was saying?

"Well, this house is very big and I am, although I do hate to admit, advancing in years, so I don't get around it as a younger man would. " His dark eyes bored into Fenton's as he shrugged, "I had no idea the child was here."

"BULL!" Fenton roared.

Unbothered by the outburst, Mr. Rosado took a sip of his tea before sighing, "However, I am a reasonable man…and since your family has been aggrieved by my employee, I feel that it's only fair that I, as an honorable man, offer you compensation…for your pain and suffering."

He leaned forward in his chair. "How much _is_ a child worth these days, Fenton?"

Fenton Hardy lunged across the room. "You bastard!"

Sam caught him, pulled him back and hissed, "Fenton, don't let him win! This is what he wants."

Antoine was now addressing Chief Collig. "You can prove nothing except Muir worked for me. However, he was still an individual and I can be held no more responsible for his personal actions than can the employer of Jeffrey Dahmer." He looked at Fenton, amused to see the unflappable detective looking so undone. "So if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, it would appear that I need to take out an ad for an new employee."

He smirked. "That's the wonderful thing about money; you can always find someone to take care of things for you."

Fenton was horrified – did Antoine actually think he was going to get away with this?

And then Sam spoke up. "You're forgetting one thing, Mr. Rosado."

The old man raised his eyebrow, imploring him to continue.

"There's a witness."

Officer Riley stepped forward with the handcuffs. "Antoine Rosado, you are being arrested for the kidnapping and illegal confinement of Joseph Hardy. You have the right to remain silent…"

Surprisingly enough, the old man not only didn't say anything else, but he stood up and put out his wrists.

As he was being led from the room, he looked at Fenton and Sam. "This is not over yet boys…not by a long shot…."

"Oh yes it is," Fenton said. "It's over…for you."

tbc


	20. Chapter 20

**I feel bad about making you wait so long for the last chapter that I thought I'd put this one up today. The story is almost done folks and I'd like to thank everyone who has read and reviewed. There is one more chapter after this one. **

**The Collector**

**Chapter 20**

Fenton and Sam were just getting ready to leave the house when a green-faced officer raced past them and out the front door. Trading a look, they heard him being sick, moments later.

While anxious to get to the hospital and find out how Joe was doing, their curiosity was aroused. _What could have warranted such a strong reaction from one of the officers searching Deathe House?_

Fenton had to know; especially if it could have any repercussions for his son.

The ASPCA had already been there to take care of the dog, which, while large, had presented them no problems. The animal would be kept at the shelter until either Mr. Rosado, or the state, made alternate arrangements for him.

Collig's grim face met them at the end of a hall, and he shook his head. "You're not going to believe it."

"Humor us," Sam said.

The older man looked from Fenton to Sam and back to Fenton again. He spoke slowly. "We found his trophy case."

* * *

Joe slowly opened his eyes, saw someone standing over him and bolted up out of bed. Frank's quick reflexes were the only thing that kept him from falling on the floor as his ankle buckled beneath him.

"Whoa, easy," the older teen soothed, somewhat startled by Joe's abrupt awakening. "It's okay."

They had finally gotten home in the wee hours of the morning, and after a couple hours of sleep, Frank had just come in to check on his brother – mostly to confirm for himself that Joe was indeed safe and sound at home.

Joe had been very lucky. Although his ankle was badly sprained, and his frantic race through the woods had done nothing to improve on it…it wasn't broken. Other than that, he'd been hungry and suffering from mild dehydration for which he was put on an IV for the duration of the assessment.

His right wrist, badly torn from the handcuffs, had been treated, bandaged and then he'd been given a shot of antibiotics as a precautionary measure against infection.

Dr. Mikes, the ER physician who had assessed Joe, assured the family that he'd be okay after a couple of good days of rest, and then he'd discharged the teen and sent them on their way.

Fenton had called to see how Joe was doing but, as far as Frank knew, he wasn't home yet.

Frank kept a firm grip on his brother's arm, although Joe made no move to get back into bed; instead, he remained standing by the side of it, with his injured leg bent slightly to keep the weight off his ankle.

The younger boy stared at him, his eyes wide, his chest heaving as he fought to get his racing heart under control. For one moment, he had thought he was back in Deathe House and that Frank was Muir.

"Sorry," Joe finally mumbled as he relaxed a bit, but didn't try and move away from his brother, yet. "Thought you were someone else."

Squeezing his arm affectionately, Frank was just about to say something when there was a soft knock on the bedroom door, followed by their father's voice.

"Joe? Son, you awake?"

"Yeah," Joe said as he sat back down on his bed and let Frank help him prop his foot up on a pillow. The younger boy scooted up until he was sitting up with his back pressed against the wall. After waking up like that, he wasn't exactly too anxious to go back to sleep right now.

Fenton opened the door and came in, not at all surprised to see Frank standing by his brother's bed. He gave his sons a smile, but they could both see how forced it was.

Immediately Joe thought something had happened with Mr. Rosado.

"What's wrong? Did he get away?" he asked anxiously, and his father rushed to assure him.

"No, no. We got him, and he's been arrested."

"Thank goodness," Frank said genuinely relieved. While he wasn't sure yet what had happened to Joe during his captivity, just the idea that the man who had been responsible was behind bars, was very comforting.

Joe didn't say anything.

After a moment, Fenton sat down next to his younger son, indicated that Frank should sit down too, and sighed.

"Joe," he started, his voice gentle. He could see how weary the teen was and hated to press him right now, but he needed to know what his child had seen…how much Joe knew. "If you feel up to it, we really need to know what happened."

Sighing, the blond youth leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He heard Frank lean forward from the desk chair he was sitting in, and then felt his comforting hand on his arm,

"I'm here little brother," Frank reminded him softly, "every step of the way."

Joe smiled at that and thought, _yes, you are big brother_. And feeling strength through that simple touch and statement, the younger boy nodded his head, opened his eyes and looked at his father. "Okay."

Fenton let out a relieved sigh. After what they'd found in Antoine's house, the detective was terrified for his son. But the fact that the teen wasn't too hesitant to talk to them about it now, speared him with a hope that somehow Joe might have been spared from all the grisly details of what Rosado and Muir had been doing.

Unfortunately for the detective, he, and the others who had been there during the search, were not.

* * *

Frank sat with his brother as Joe gave his statement to the police, and as he listened to the bizarre tale of giants and silk shirts, he just shook his head; his relief fathomless that his brother had escaped.

Antoine Rosado was a madman.

Giving Joe's shoulder a supportive squeeze as the younger boy faltered during the retelling of the murder he'd been forced to witness, Frank felt his anger simmering hotly, as he thought of how that smug little man had sat across the table from him, eating his mother's banana bread. All the while knowing he had Frank's brother locked away in his house…_for his own amusement._

A couple of times, Frank closed his eyes and had to force himself to swallow his feelings.

Antoine had taken him in…taken them all in.

But then, slipping his arm around his brother's shoulder when he heard a barely restrained sob, Frank amended his statement. They hadn't been all been taken in…_Joe hadn't_.

_Oh little brother_, he thought, _you were so right…. Mr. Rosado was __very__ creepy…._

* * *

Fenton kept his arms wrapped tightly around his wife as they stood on the other side of the two-way mirror and listened to Joe talk. They had wanted to be in there with him, but the blond teen had asked them not to. He only wanted Frank there.

Joe knew his parents would be listening on the other side, and that was fine with him. But he really didn't want to see the look on their faces when they heard him talk about what had happened, and more especially about the woman….

"Ohmygod," Laura whispered as she watched her son seeming to fall apart in the room, when he spoke of what he witnessed. As much as she wanted to run into the room and comfort him, she saw Frank move to, and instead, looked up at her husband.

Fenton saw the horror on her face and squeezed her tightly as he whispered, "Joe's a strong kid, Laura, he'll be okay….We'll make sure of that."

Closing her eyes while she collected herself, the worried mother hoped her husband was right about Joe's strength….She couldn't even begin to imagine what it must have been like to be there.

* * *

After Joe finished giving his statement, Laura went into the room while Collig pulled Fenton to the side. His eyes held an apology, but for what, the detective wasn't sure yet.

"What's wrong?" he demanded immediately, as out of the corner of his eye, he saw his wife move towards Joe. The younger boy was white-faced and trembling, a testimony to how much talking about this had shaken him up.

"I think my Jane Doe is the woman Joe saw murdered," he said glancing into the small room, "but I need him to make a positive ID."

"Then you can charge Rosado with murder, as well," Fenton stated bluntly, even as he rubbed a hand across his weary face. "This just keeps getting better." He now knew why Collig was apologizing – he needed Fenton's seventeen-year-old son to revisit something that was obviously very upsetting for him. Joe needed to see the body.

Fenton muttered something under his breath and then nodded, curtly. "Okay. Let me talk to him."

"If there was any other way…" the chief began, and the detective cut him off, wanting to get this over with so they could go home.

"I know, Ezra. I know." Without another word he opened the door to the small room, walked in and smiled at his son.

_Dear God_, he thought, _give me the courage to ask him…and give him the strength to do it._

_tbc_


	21. Chapter 21

**Thank you to every one who has read and reviewed this story. Alas it is now over. Oh well that means I'll just have to start posting another one :) Enjoy!**

**The Collector**

**Chapter 21**

Fenton kept one hand firmly on his son's shoulder as Joe sucked in a deep breath and nodded. He was ready.

Frank and Laura were outside in the hall waiting for them.

As the body was pulled out of the morgue freezer and the plastic covering un-zippered, Fenton's stomach lurched even as he felt his son tense under his hand.

"Oh Joey," he whispered, gaining a horrifying understanding into just how traumatic this must have been for his young son. Murder by itself was atrocious, but this one was particularly brutal.

The investigator, a veteran in his field, was no stranger to death; and he _had _seen Rosado's 'trophies'….But he still wasn't prepared for this!

"T-that's her," Joe managed to get the words out before he turned around and buried his face in his father's chest. Fenton held his son as the dead woman on the cold slab was pushed back in the freezer.

"Thanks Joe," Officer Riley said quietly as he recorded the ID – her true identity might not be known, but this Jane Doe could rest in peace.…Her murderer would do his time.

After a few minutes, Joe pulled away from his father, hastily wiped the tears from his face and asked, "Why Dad? Why he'd do this to her? To me?"

"He's a very sick man," Fenton said absently, not really knowing what else to say. He was heartsick to know that this woman's death would follow his son and always be a part of the man Joe became.

"But her eyes…" Joe looked at him in horror as his mind raced through the last few minutes of her life again. "Why'd he take her eyes?"

Swallowing hard as the investigator realized his son hadn't been spared as much as he'd hoped, he was forced to admit the truth. "He's a collector, Joe. _A human collector_."

Frank did not like the look on his brother's face when he and their father finally did come out of the room.

"_Joe_?" he said tentatively as he took his brother's arm and sat him down in one of the wooden benches outside the room, laying the crutches against the wall. Joe looked ready to pass out. "Are you okay?"

"No," Joe admitted quietly, shaking his head as he did so. "Frank, he collected eyes…_human eyes_."

Stunned, the older boy sat down slowly on the seat next to his brother and looked up at his father, begging for some rational explanation for his brother's statement. But as his father just shook his head and looked away…he knew there wasn't one.

"Fenton?" his mother's horror-stricken voice filled the hallway, and the investigator sighed, leaned back against the wall across from his sons and rubbed his temples.

"Rosado is a monster," was all he could say in explanation.

* * *

When the Hardys pulled up in their driveway, they were surprised to see Chet Morton waiting for them on their front porch. His face broke into a wide smile as he said 'hello' and then followed them into the house.

"You're never going to believe this," he said as they stood in the living room, "But Rosado sent us a check to cover the cost of the couch."

"No way!" Frank said, his eyes wide in disbelief as Joe scowled; neither could believe the nerve of the guy. "How'd he manage that, he's in jail?"

"Antoine's lawyer was at the precinct before he was," Fenton said grimly by way of explanation.

"Dad sent it back, though. He doesn't want anything from that nutcase," Chet told them.

Propping the crutches to the side of it, Joe sat down heavily in an armchair. "You should have taken the money." Everyone looked at him in surprise.

He shrugged. "Why not? Muir _was_ his pet."

No one said anything for a few moments, and then the phone rang and Laura excused herself to answer it. Fenton followed her, anxious for a much-needed cup of coffee.

Frank sat down on the arm of the chair Joe was sitting in as Chet flumped down on the couch. The boys sat in silence for a few more moments before Joe finally said, "I didn't get a chance to say it before, Chet, but thanks. You guys saved my life."

Chet blushed; he wasn't good at handling gratitude. "It's okay, Joe, you'd have done the same for me."

Joe looked at his friend intently, his eyes vibrant with sincerity. "Yes, I would have." And then he continued, "You know, I don't think I've ever told you this before, but last night just reminded me of how lucky I am, to have you as one of my friends. You're irreplaceable, Chester Morton."

Speechless, Chet turned to Frank, assuming that he'd told Joe about what Rosado had said, but the older brother just shrugged. He hadn't had a chance to tell Joe anything yet!

And then Joe stood up and grabbed his crutches. "If you guys don't mind, I think I'm going to lie down for a bit."

Waiting until they heard Joe's room door close upstairs, Frank looked at Chet and held up his hands. "Honestly Chet, I never mentioned anything to Joe, _yet!_" And then he grinned. "But see? It's like I told you – _Zen-Frank says," _he bowed and did his best impersonation of Confucius," '_you __are__ good friend…because you are __good __friend.'"_

Laughing at the look on Chet's face, Frank barely managed to duck the pillow that was launched from the couch two seconds later!

* * *

Later that night Frank found his brother sitting up on his bed, staring blankly at the wall; his face cast in the shadows of the lamp next to the bed.

The eighteen-year-old was surprised, as it was late and he'd thought Joe had fallen asleep hours ago. Frank, himself, had been asleep, when he just woke up with the strangest need to make sure Joe was still in his room.

And he was; however, the blond boy was far from being asleep.

"You okay?" Frank asked quietly, moving into Joe's room. The other teen started for a moment and then smiled.

"Do you know how many times I've been asked that since last night?"

"No," Frank said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and watching his brother carefully. Neither he nor his parents were expecting Joe to just go back to being the same kid he'd been only days earlier – they realized that there would probably be sleepless nights ahead, if his reactions so far were any indication.

But Frank had still hoped.

"Me neither," Joe said, rubbing his eyes. He really was tired, but every time he closed them he was terrified he would open them to see Muir standing over him…and that this was the dream.

"We're just worried about you," Frank said bluntly.

Joe looked at his brother for a long time and then he just said, "Mr. Rosado used to have a brother."

…_Does Frank like to scare you Joseph? Does he like to dangle you above your fears and relish in your weakness? My child…does your brother live to torment you?_

"Yeah, so I heard—" Frank's words were cut off as suddenly his younger brother threw himself at him and grabbed him in a tight hug.

When Frank was finally able to get his breath, he gasped, "What's this for?"

"For being _my_ brother…"

"Oh kiddo," Frank soothed as he held his brother and rubbed his back, "you never to thank me for that…."

Neither brother said anything else. But in the morning, when their parents came to check on them, they found them asleep; Joe nestled against his brother with Frank's arms wrapped protectively around him.

Laura smiled at Fenton, who gave her a peck on the cheek, and then backed them quietly out of the room before they woke the boys.

"See," he whispered, "He's going to be just fine. How can he not be?" the detective continued, enjoying the feeling that had come over him seeing his sons like that. He knew they were truly blessed that their children were so close. "He's got _a Frank_."

And then Laura swatted at him playfully as he finished, referring to his somewhat stoic older sister, "I wish I could get me one of those…all I got is _a Gert!"_

The woman at the ASCPA looked at the old man. "We were told you were coming."

The old man didn't say anything, but followed her down the long corridor and past all the dog cages, until they came to the one holding the mastiff. The dog was on its feet immediately, recognizing the man.

"Well, he seems happy enough to see you," the woman said as she opened the door. The huge dog was wagging his tail enthusiastically.

"Indeed," the old man said, giving the dog an affectionate pat on the head, before turning to leave, with the animal following faithfully at his heels.

"Just out of curiosity," the woman asked, knowing the history of this dog, "how do you know his owner?"

The old man offered her a tired smile and shrugged before he left. "I'm his big brother…."

The End


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